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I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. | 



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PAST MERIDIAN 



/ 



Mrs. L. H. SIGOURNEY. 



" Ah ! "wherefore sigh for what is gone ? 

Or deem the future all a night ? 
Frona darkness through the rosy dawn, 

The stars go singing into light : 
And to the pilgrim lone and gray, 

One thought shall come to cheer his breast, 
The evening sun but fades away 

To find new morning in the west." 

T. B, Eead. 




^^to |0rli: 

D. APPLETON & CO., 200 Broadway. 
J. P. JEWETT & CO., 117 Washington Street 

M.DCCC.LIV. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by 

FEANCIS T. RUSSELL, 
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Connecticut. 



PRINTED BY CASE, TIFFANY AND CO., HARTFORD, CT. 



I>REFA.CE. 



It is not considered polite to ask people their 
age, after the bloom of youth has departed. I 
would not willingly violate the rules of decorum, 
or tempt any one to hide the foot-prints of Time 
as the Indian warrior covers his track with leaves. 
So, making no invidious inquiry, let me simply 
whisper in the ear of those who have achieved 
more than half life's journey, that this book is for 
them. It is their own exclusive property. It is 
devoted heart and hand to their interests. Who- 
ever is found reading it, may be suspected to have 
attained the same ripe age. 

It is, therefore, a kind of confidential matter 
between me and my compeers — we, whose faces 
are toward the setting sun. To all such, I offer 
the right hand of fellowship. There are sympa- 



IV PREFACE. 

thies between us. We are in the same category — 
a joint stock concern that admits no young part- 
ners. Every camp has its watchword. Every 
state its history. Every profession its policy. 
And have not we ours ? Aye, and our rights too ? 
And shall we not stand for them ? Come, let us 
see. L. H. S. 

Hartford, Conn., 
Sept. 1st, 1854. 



COISTTENTS 



Preface, 3 

The a. M's and the P. M's, 9 

Old, 19 

Reporters, 31 

The Custody of Knowledge, 39 

The Beauty of Age, 52 

Air, 67 

Domestic Anniversaries, 84 

Patriotic Recollections, 101 

Accomplishments, 115 

Privileges of Age, 180 

Literary Longevity, 145 

"Westering Sunbeams, 172 

About Money, 195 

The Amenities, 213 

The Pleasures of Winter, 223 

A New Existence, 229 



CHAPTER I, 



" Ah ! -wliat concerns it him whose way 

Lies upward to the immortal dead, 
That a few hairs are turning gray ? 

Or one more year of life hath fled ? 
Swift years ! still teach us how to bear, 

To feel, to act, with strength and skill, 
To reason wisely, nobly dare. 

Then speed your courses as ye will. 
When life's meridian toils are done, 

How calm, how rich the twilight glow, 
The morning twilight of a sun 

That shines not here, on things below." 

PkOFESSOR NORTOIS'. 

The equinoctial of human life, though 
vaguely defined, is not an imaginary line. 
Arithmetically speaking, thirty-five, as predi- 
cated on the allotted span of seventy years, 

is the true zenith. Yet life's latitude can not 
2 



10 P A S T M E R I D I A N . 

always be computed with such exactness. 
Of Cuvier, it was said at sixty, that he was 
but in the climax of his scientific powers; and 
Klopstock, at eighty, bore the epithet of " the 
youth forever." 

These instances are, indeed, but exceptions, 
and it will be, doubtless, admitted that the 
meridian of life is fully passed at fifty. It 
would be an exceedingly liberal construction 
to extend to sixty, the dividing line between 
the ante and the post meridian people. 
Though the boundary may slightly vary, jet 
the characteristics and possessions of those 
on each side of this debateable ground are 
sufficiently distinct. 

With the A. M.'s, are the beauty and the 
vigor, and the ambition of this present world. 
Of these distinctions they are aware and 
tenacious. 

Yet, the P. M.'s are not utterly cyphers. 
This, I trust, in due time to show. If with 
them, there is a less inflated hope, there 
should be a more rational happiness; for they 



THE A. M.'S AND THE P. M.'s. 11 

have winnowed the chaff from the wheat, 
and tested both what is worth pursuing, and 
worth possessing. 

Is there any antagonism between these 
parties? Is one disposed to monopolize, and 
the other to consider itself depreciated ? 
Does one complain that 

" Superfluous lags the veteran on tlie stage ? " 

and the other morosely withdraw from the 
battle of life, and its reciprocities ? We will 
not admit any just ground for such estrange- 
ment. Rather are they differing tenses of 
the same verb, the verb ''to love'' whose 
root is in the blessed principle that binds the 
universe together. Children are they of the 
morning and of the evening, living on the 
bounty of one common Father, and lighted 
by the beams of the same rising and setting 
sun, to His home in Heaven. 

The duties that devolve on the P. M.'s are 
not often as clearly evident, or as strongly 
enforced as those which appertain to their 
predecessors. One, comprise the planting. 



12 PAST MERIDIAN. 

the other the ripening process. In agricul- 
ture, the necessity of preparing the soil, and 
sowing right seed, is apparent and imperative. 
The requisitions to remove weeds, and destroy 
noxious insects, are equally obvious. But 
when the objects of culture approach their 
final maturity, vigilance declines. Still, the 
careful gardener will give the perfecting peach 
the shelter of a wall, or the clustering grape 
a prop, that it may better meet the sunbeam. 
The laborer knows that the golden sheaf 
needs the vertic sun, and the boy seeks not 
his nuts in the forest, till the frost opens their 
sheath. 

So, in this our mortal life, though the toils 
that fit for action, are more obvious and press- 
ing, yet the responsibilities of its period of 
repose, should be often and distinctly contem- 
plated. For that richest fruit of the Creator, 
the soul of man, that which survives, when 
all other works of creation perish, goes on 
ripening and ripening as long as it hangs in 
this garden of time, and needs both earthly 



13 

and divine aid to bring it happily to the eter- 
nal garner. 

It has been said that the ethics of age have 
been less elaborately stated than those of 
youth or maturity. Still, the most perfect 
philosophy, the most subhme precepts, must 
fail, without the example of a good life. The 
morality of Socrates and Seneca, was beauti- 
ful, but their times furnished no illustrations. 
The code of Confucius was fine, but lacked 
vitality. How much more impressive is the 
theory of Addison, he who was enabled to say 
at last, " Come, see in what peace a Christian 
can die." 

" I know of but one way of fortifying the mind against 
gloomy presages and terrors, and that is, by securing the 
friendship of that Being who disposes of all events, and 
governs futurity. He sees at one view, the whole thread 
of my existence, not only that part of it which I have 
already passed through, but that which runs forward into 
the depths of eternity. When I lie down to sleep, I 
recommend myself to His care ; when I awake I give my- 
self up to His direction. Amidst all the evils that threat- 
en me, I will look up to Him for help, and question not 
2* 



14 PAST MERIDIAN. 

but He will avert them, or turn them to my advantage. 
Though I know neither the time, nor the manner of the 
death that I am to die, I am not at all solicitous about it, 
because I am sure that He knows them both, and that He 
will not fail to support and comfort me under them." 

A serenity thus founded and sustained, pro- 
motes the ripening of the soul's best fruits. 
Earthly perturbations check their full devel- 
opment, and may cause them to fall before 
their time. To pass through God's world, 
unreconciled, or in hostility to Him, is fearful 
arrogance. To estrange from His service the 
powers tlmt He has given, or the affections 
that He claims, is treason heightened by in- 
gratitude. 

If this has been the case with any of us, let 
us lay aside the weapons of our warfare. 
When we first entered this pilgrimage, many 
paths allured us, each bright with flowers, 
and birds of hope. Some we followed, till the 
flowers faded, and the song ceased. Others 
we entered, and hastily retraced, finding only 
thorns and pitfalls. Now, approaching the 



THE A. M.'S AND THE P. M.'s. l5 

close of our probation, a single road strongly 
solicits us, one prominent object concentrates 
our desires, a happy entrance into the " house 
not made with hands ! " 

All along the way there is happiness for 
those whose hearts are in unison with the 
Divine will. With a prayer of penitence for 
the erring past, — with a hymn of faith for the 
joyous future, they pass onward, their Christian 
graces ripening day by day, under the "clear 
shining of the Sun of Righteousness." Thus 
may it be with us, until the last, bright drop 
of this brief existence shall be exhaled. 

Those who have completed half a century, 
if not literally numbered among the aged, 
have yet reached a period of great gravity 
and importance. They should have gained 
an ascent which discloses much of earth's 
vanity. They have past life's meridian, and 
journey henceforth toward the gates of the 
west. Those who like tutelary spirits pre- 
sided over their earliest years, and rejoiced 
in their blossoming promise, have long since 



16 PAST MERIDIAN. 

ceased their ministrations, or departed to their 
reward. For the responsibilities that remain, 
they must gird themselves, and help to gird 
others. To a future generation they should 
pay the debt which they have incurred from 
the past. 

Time has also to them, a heightened and 
an increasing value. For should they reach 
threescore and ten, which it is computed that 
only five in one hundred of our race attain, or 
even far surmount the prescribed date of man, 
every year is said to gather fleetness as it ap- 
proaches its goal. The rapidity of the tide 
of time has been well depicted by one of 
our own eloquent lecturers, the Rev. Henry 
Giles. 

"There is no Gibeon in life, upon wliich we can rest 
for a moment, the morning or the noontide; there is no 
Ajalon in our age, whereon we can force the moonHght to 
repose beyond its appointed hour. We cannot rekindle 
the morning beams of childhood ; we cannot recall the 
noontide glory of youth ; we cannot bring back the perfect 
day of maturity ; we cannot fix the evening rays of age, in 
the shadowy horizon ; but we can cherish that goodness 



THE A. 

which is the sweetness of childhood, the joy of youth, the 
strength of maturity, the honor of old age, and the bliss 
of saints." 

The aids of philosophy to promote the com- 
fort and dignity of advancing age have been 
often given, in the form of beautiful rules, or 
striking aphorisms. Yet these will be found 
frail, or rootless, unless the soul is at peace 
with itself and with its Maker. 

It may be, that God's gift of life in its more 
protracted periods, is by certain classes of 
observers, undervalued, or vilified. Should 
it be our lot to reach any of those periods, 
may we do justice to the Giver's goodness. 
May we so co-operate with all heavenly 
influences, so conform our conduct to the 
precepts of the Gospel, so trust in our Re- 
deemer, that 

« What is dark 
» In us, He may illumine ; what is weak, 
Raise and support." 

Thus, striving to prove that age, though 
deemed so unlovely, can be happy and holy. 



18 PAST MERIDIAN. 

may we find the last note of its hymn sweet- 
ly harmonizing w4th the angels' welcome^ 
" Come up hither ! " 



CHAPTER II, 



" My Mariners ! 
Souls that have toll'd and wrought and felt with me, 
That ever with a simple welcome took 
The thunder or the sunshine, and oppos'd 
Free hearts, free foreheads, you and I are old : 
Yet age hath still his honor and his joy." 

Tennyson. 

Old! Can you remember how you felt, 
when that adjective was first coupled with 
your name ? Perhaps your milliner in fitting 
a new hat, chanced to remark, that was a 
"becoming fashion for an old lady ; " or some 
coachman, by way of recommending his car- 
riage, might have added, it was remarkably 
easy for an " old gentlemaji to get in and out 
of^' 

Old, indeed! How officious and rude, these 



20 



PAST MERIDIAN. 



common people are ! Whereupon, you have 
consulted your mirror, and been still more 
indignant at their stupidity. 

But you may have been more gently helped 
along to this conclusion, by the circumstance 
of paternity. Old Mr, and Mrs. set in oppo- 
sition with young Mr. and Mrs., lose much of 
their discordance, and become familiar house- 
hold words. The satisfaction of hearing your 
eldest darling thus distinguished, has softened 
the bitterness of your own unflattering cog- 
nomen. Possibly, you have been moved 
magnanimously to exclaim, with the senten- 
tious Ossian, "Let the name of Morni be for- 
gotten among the people, if they will only 
say, behold the father of Gaul." 

Still, it is hard to have a quietus suddenly 
put upon long-cherished hopes and vanities. 
"The baby shall not be named after me," 
said a young parent of his first-born, " for it 
will be old John and young John, while I am 
yet in my prime." " I wish my son had not 
taken it into his head to marry so early," said 



OLD. 21 

a lady in a remarkably fine state of preserva- 
tion; ^'for now, I suppose, it must be old 
Madam, and young Madam." The unmar- 
ried, whose recollections can bisect a century, 
are prone to be annoyed at the disposition to 
pry into dates, and are sure that no well-bred 
person would be guilty of such absurd curi- 
osity. 

Yet, to cover the tracks of time, and put 
family records out of the way, are of little 
avail. There will be here and there, a mem- 
ory stubbornly tenacious of chronological mat- 
ters, and whoever labors to conceal his proper 
date, will usually find some Argus to watch 
over and reveal it. 

But, after all ! what is there so frightful in 
this little Saxon word old ? This collocation 
of three innocent letters, why do they thrill 
the hearts of so many fair women and brave 
men, with terror and aversion ? 

Is everything that is old deteriorated ? 
What do you think of old wine ? We can 
not, indeed, say quite as much about that, in 



22 PAST MERIDIAN. 

these temperance times, as Anacreon did. 
But I've always understood, when physicians 
recommended its tonic or restorative powers 
in medicine, it was the old, and not the new. 
Ask the epicure to partake of new cheese. 
Saith he not, "No: the 6>/(i is better." Does 
any one question the correctness of his taste ? 
What do you say of an old friend, that best 
cordial of life ? Blessings on his smile, and 
on the hearty grasp of his hand. What if he 
does come, leaning on his staff? There is no 
winter in his heart. He was brought up in 
times when friendship was more than a name. 

" The vine produces more grapes when it 
is young," says Bacon, " but better grapes for 
wine, when it is old, because its juices are 
more perfectly concocted." Very true, no 
doubt. A wise man, was my Lord Bacon. 
We see everything is not w^orse for being 
old. 

Is it worth while to be so much shocked at 
the circumstance of becoming old ? Is it a 
mark of excommunication from our race? 



OLD. 23 

On the contrary, we have a chance of finding 
some very good company. 

So then, we to whom thrice twenty years, 
each with its four full seasons, fairly counted 
out, pressed together, and running over, have 
been given, will no longer resist the epithet, 
old, " To this complexion we have come at 
last." We will not be ashamed of it. It is 
better to be old, than to be wicked. 

Let us draw nearer together. I hold that 
we are not a despisable body. Similarity of 
position, gives community of interest. Have 
we not something to say, that others need not 
hear ? We'll say it in this book. 

And first, I would whisper a proposition, 
that we depend not too much on sympathy 
from the young. Those who earnestly de- 
mand that commodity, having outlived their 
early associates, will stand a chance of being 
numbered among the repiners of old, "sitting 
in the market-place, and calling unto their 
fellows, we have piped unto you, and ye have 



24 PAST MERIDIAN. 

not danced, we have mourned unto you and 
ye have not lamented." 

Secondly, let us search after bright things, 
in the vy^orld, and among its people. " Every 
year of my life," says Cecil, " I grow more 
convinced that it is wisest and best to fix our 
attention on the beautiful and the good, and 
dwell as little as possible on the dark and the 
base." 

Yet it is said that the past-meridians are 
prone to be querulous, dissatisfied, and to 
multiply complaints. I think I have heard a 
few of these. Supposing we should listen to 
and examine them. 

" The world is not what it used to Z>e." No. 
It is in a state of palpable progress. It has 
thrown off its seven-mile boots, and travels 
by steam. We plod after it in our antique, 
lumbering stage-coaches, and can scarcely 
keep in sight the smoke of its engine. We 
can not overtake it, and it will not stay for 
us. The world is in a different phase of 



OLD. 25 

action. It pleads guilty to this accusation. 
What next ? 

" We do not receive the respect that was once 
paid to age,'' Perhaps we expect too much. 
Is not something due from us 1 We think 
the young neglect us. Do we not owe some- 
thing to the young ourselves ? Those who 
linger at a banquet after others are gone, 
should take especial pains to make themselves 
agreeable. If we find less courtesy than we 
wish, let us show more. It becomes us to 
be very meek and patient, to make amends 
for our long entertainment at life's board. 
" I had a beautiful dream," said a bright boy, 
" I thought we children were all in heaven, 
and so happy. By and by, grandfather came 
in frowning, and said as he always does, 
' Can't these children stop their noise ? ' So, 
we all ran away." 

''People are tired of us'' It may be so. 

The guest who tarries late, is sometimes 

counted intrusive or burdensome. Toward 

those who have long retained coveted honors 
3* 



26 PAST MERIDIAN. 

or emoluments, there is a natural impatience 
for reversion. "That old lawyer has stood 
first at the bar, long enough/' says the 
younger aspirant. "That old physician gets 
all the practice; we young doctors may 
starve." "That old author has been the 
favorite of the public an unreasonable time ; 
the rest of us want a fair chance." The 
monopoly of wealth is equally hazardous, 
though expectant heirs may be less frank in 
their expression of impatience. The resig- 
nation at the departure of the aged and 
distinguished, can be readily understood. 
Allusions to the majority of the early summon- 
ed, may be sometimes significant. "Those 
whom the gods love, die young," said a 
pagan. In an age when all slow movements 
are unpopular, speed in departure may possi- 
bly be counted among the graces; and in a 
republic, a desire for the equalization of hon- 
ors, is neither peculiar nor reprehensible. 

" We are not iii good health,'' Very likely. 
It would be remarkable if we were. We 



OLD. 27 

could not expect to wear the world's harness 
so many years, up hill, and down hill, with- 
out some chafing. It would be a wonder if 
none of our senses were enfeebled. They 
have served us for a long time. Let us be 
thankful for the period in which we have 
seen clearly, heard quickly, and moved nim- 
bly. Many mysterious springs, and intricate 
chords, and delicate humors, have been kept 
in order to this end. We will praise the 
Architect of such wonderful mechanism, that 
it has so well served us, and that He has seen 
fit so long to keep the '' pitcher from being 
broken at the fountain, or the wheel at the 
cistern." 

" Our early friends have departed" Ah ! 
there is sadness in that sound. But on this 
tenure we commenced our earthly journey. 
They were to go from us, or we from them. 
We linger in the deserted hall, and ought 
not to marvel that its flowers droop, and its 
lamps wane, or are extinguished. Yet our 
blessed ones, lost for a time on earth, are 



28 P A S T M E R I D I A N . 

they not to be found in heaven? Only a 
little in advance of us, have they forded the 
dark river. See we not their white gar- 
ments glitter from the opposing bank? Does 
not their smile inspire us with courage our- 
selves to launch away ? We go not to a 
stranger's land. Is not that glorious clime 
of our hope endeared by the thought that so 
many of those whom we best loved here, 
await us there ? that the hands which we 
here pressed so fondly, shall renew the love- 
ties, which death for a moment sundered? 
that those voices which have never ceased to 
linger in our hearts as a treasured melody, 
shall be the first to welcome us to the society 
of an " innumerable company of angels, and 
to the spirits of the just made perfect ? " 

Whoever persists in complaining of this 
mortal life, virtually admits that he desires 
another. Are we ready for an untried exist- 
ence ? ready at a moment's warning to launch 
away, and return no more ? ready for its 
atmosphere and service of love ? 



OLD. 29 

If any preparation for this change of clime 
is incomplete, let us address ourselves fer- 
vently to the work, without loss of time or 
energy in murmuring. We might, indeed, 
in our loneliness and morbidness, multiply 
complaints without end. The habit would 
grow with indulgence, till every breath be- 
came a claim for sympathy, or an objurgation 
if it were withheld. 

But cui bono ? Have not others infirmities 
and troubles, as well as ourselves? Why 
add to their load ? W ould it not be better 
to take a part of theirs? "Bear ye one 
another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of 
Christ." It hath been well said that " mur- 
muring is a black garment, and be come th 
none so ill as saints." 

Oh friends ! let us not lose our interest 
in life's blessings, because we have so long 
enjoyed our share of them. Rather, as an 
eloquent writer of our own has said, will we 
"arise, and throw open a window in our 
hearts, and let in the tone of the bird, and 



20 PAST MERIDIAN. 

the breath of tlie violet." We will not per- 
mit that bright heart-window to be sealed, 
nor the hand, through our own inertness, to 
become paralyzed, while genial nature still 
spreads her charms around us, and invites us 
to rejoice in them, and in the God who gave 
them. 



CHAPTER III. 



" Gather earth's glory and bloom ivithin, 

That the soul may be brighter when youth is past/' 

Mks. Osgood. 

" The senses/' says Lord Bacon, '^ are re- 
porters to the mind.'' No wonder that they 
should get wearied with taking evidence, 
when the case is before the court, some three 
or fourscore years. It is only surprising that 
their declension should not be expected. 

Various expedients have the ingenuity of 
man devised, to strengthen their w^eakness, 
or supply their loss. The spectacle-maker 
furnishes eyes, and the dentist, teeth. The 
worshipful fraternity of wig-fanciers, cover 
bald temples with hair, to any desired pat- 
tern or hue. The crutch-vender, and the 



32 PAST MERIDIAN. 

cork-worker, do their best to aid diseased 
locomotion. The tiny, curving trumpets 
promises to stir the dull tympanum. 

Yet, can any human power revivify the 
defunct ear ? If sound hath died in its mys- 
terious temple, is there a resurrection, a 
second life ? Among the senses, that of 
hearing is prone to be the most frequently 
impaired, and when lost, to awaken the 
least sympathy. The hand is involuntarily 
stretched to lead the blind, or to give a seat 
to the lame. But at the approach of the 
deaf, there is a flight, or with those who 
remain, a sense of labor. No long conver- 
sations can be anticipated, save with the 
long-suffering. Deafness, more than other 
infirmities, repels intercourse, and cuts the 
links that bind man to society. 

Has our ear grown weary ? It has heard 
many discords in its day, without a doubt. 
The nerves, its ambassadors, may need re- 
pose. It is true that we are thus prevented 
from rendering ourselves agreeable in society. 



REPORTERS. 33 

But, perhaps, when we were there, we did 
not do or receive any great amount of good. 
Possibly, our oral contributions to knowledge 
may not be much missed, and meditation 
may be as serviceable to us as the taking in 
of new supplies. It may be our true wisdom 
to withdraw from the traffic of words, and 
cultivate a more thorough acquaintance with 
our own hearts, and our hearts' true friends, 
the angels. Perchance, we have lingered 
long enough among earth's broken tones, and 
are called to reserve our listening powers for 
the melodies of heaven. 

The eye, that keeps so fresh our blessed 
communion with nature, has that become 
dim ? Are those who " look out at the win- 
dows, darkened?" Must the world of books 
be in a great measure closed to us, or perhaps, 
the dear faces of friends shrouded? Then, 
the souFs pictures gather clearness, and mem- 
ory walks in halls where is perpetual light. 
Thought concentrates itself, and makes its 

work more perfect. Should we have had the 
4 



34 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Iliad of Homer, or the greater poems of Mil- 
, ton, or the histories of Prescott, if the outer 
eye had not been " quench'd by drop serene," 
and the flashing of the world's torches and 
flambeaux shut out from the mind's sanc- 
tuary ? Hear the brave, blind old poet, 

" So mucli tlie rather, thou Celestial Light, 
Shine inward, and the soul thro' all her powers 
Irradiate." 

Good and faithful servants have the report- 
ing senses been to us. Year after year have 
they spread for us the charms of nature, and 
brought us the music of the living world, 
and the odor of the rose, and the thrill of 
the love-kiss, and the pleasure drawn from 
the essences of earth's fruits, and from that 
inferior creation which was yielded to man's 
dominion, that the nutriment of their life 
might sustain his own. If any of these sen- 
tinels at length slumber at their post, if they 
falter or decay, we will not view it as an 
infliction, or an affliction, but rather as a 
tranquillizing pause of preparation for a state 



REPORTERS. 35 

where they are no longer needed. While 
we rejoice that they have for many years 
been continued to us, we will not forget to 
be thankful that we have ourselves also been 
spared for further improvement. 

How many dangers have been overruled 
that we might be sheltered. What hosts of 
enemies have been trodden down that we 
might live. In how many nameless forms 
does death beset helpless infancy. From the 
cradle what an unending procession to the 
grave. The little hand falls powerless, the 
eye just learning to love the light, retires 
within its sealed fringes, the tongue that 
began to lisp the motlier's name is mute, and 
she, with a sorrow that words have never 
told, is a weeper over a small, green mound, 
or starting at midnight, stretches her empty 
arms in vain. Yet from the foes that beset 
waking life, we have been saved. 

The child at school, having surmounted 
the perils of earlier years, is considered com- 
paratively safe. Who says there is safety at 



36 PAST MERIDIAN. 

any age, if he has heard the funeral prayer 
by the pale clay so late full of vigor, and seen 
the school-mates move a mournful train, to 
the cold bed of the loved sharer in their 
studies and their sports. 

Youth is forth, like the morning-sun upon 
the green hill-tops. Its cheek is bloom; its 
step, grace ; its voice, melody. No care hath 
touched it, and kneeling love w^orships it as 
an idol. Rose there a voice upon the sad- 
dened air, " ashes to ashes, dust to dust ! " 
All is over. Perchance, it was our bosom's 
friend. Yet w^e lived, and passed onward. 

The father and mother are the centre of a 
happy circle. All their powers are in requi- 
sition to protect, to guide, to foster the chil- 
dren whom God hath given them. They 
seem essential to their welfare, not only for 
the " life that now is, but for that which is to 
come.'' Their place is empty. Their voice 
is silent. To the home of their love they 
return no more, and the orphans go about 
the streets. 



REPORTERS. 37 

But have we been permitted to see our 
nursery-plants grow up, and cast a fair shad- 
ow ? Have we taken a blossom from their 
stem, a baby grandchild upon our knee, and 
felt its velvet fingers moving lovingly amid 
our silver hairs, and new life entering into 
our veins from its quickly beating heart, or 
merry laughter? And was not this new 
affection as fond as that of young paternity, 
as warm with fresh hope, and perchance even 
more pleasant, in being freed from an anxious 
burden of accountability ? 

Why should we ever forget to be thankful ? 
Does the soldier, standing at his own quiet 
door, having left most of his comrades stark 
and stiff on fields of warfare, feel no gratitude ? 
Does the sailor, whose companions sank with 
the wrecked ship, view with indifference the 
life-boat that rescued him from the whelming 
wave ? 

Behold, from the battle and the storm, we 
have been saved. Wherefore we are thus 

distinguished, it is not for us to say. Yet a 

4* 



38 PAST MERIDIAN. 

weight of obligation rests on us, to render, in 
some proportion, according to the benefits we 
have received, and the risks from which we 
have been shielded. 

Are we not in life's school, the highest class ? 
the longest under training? and probably the 
first to be dismissed? How can we best 
prove that our tuition has not been in vain, 
that He who hath granted us such a protract- 
ed term of fatherly discipline, will not pro- 
nounce us idle scholars, or profitless stewards 
of his abounding mercy ? So faithfully served 
by His reporters, we should surely be able to 
present a good report at last. 

Sometimes, in seasons of earnest supplica- 
tion, we may have felt as if we could adopt 
the appeal of the endangered debtor, "Have 
patience with me, and I will pay thee all.'' 

The Master hath had patience with us. 
How have we performed our part of the 
contract ? 



CHAPTER IV. 



" The old man sate in his elbow-chair, 

His locks were thin and gray ; 
Memory, that early friend, was there. 

And he in querulous tones did say, 
* Hast thou not lost, with careless key. 

Something that I entrusted to thee ?' 
Her tardy answer was sad and low, 

" I fear, I fear that it may be so.'" 

Knowledge, in all ages of the civilized 
world, has been prized and coveted. The 
cloistered monk made it of old, a substitute 
for life's warm charities, and the philosopher 
of modern times finds in it a more permanent 
distinction than rank or w^ealth can bestow. 
The pleasures of original thought, of deep 
research, of high converse with nature or 
with art, are a rich reward for the persever- 



40 PAST MERIDIAN. 

ance they require. For them, both contem- 
plative and ambitious men have been content 

" To scorn delights and live laborious days." 

To the mind thus elevated, the joys of 
heaven are enhanced by the thought that 
there its aspirations will be freed from the 
barriers and obstacles that fettered them here 
below. A fair, young creature, to whom 
death had dealt the final stroke, pointed 
upward in ecstatic hope, and said with her 
ebbing breath, 

" There, boundless floods of knowledge roll, 
And pour, and pour upon the soul." 

To retain, as well as to amass this precious 
treasure, is a point of immense importance. 
The " custodia," or military guard of the an- 
cient Romans, led chained to his left hand, 
the prisoner or captive committed to his 
charge. Of memory, w^e are wont to expect 
similar vigilance. The tendency of advanced 
age, is to impair its custody. Whether this 
tendency is inevitable, or to be resisted, is an 
inquiry of serious import. 



THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 41 

The venerable President Quincy, whose 
retentive powers, and mental elasticity, sur- 
mount the pressure of time, thus pleasantly 
alludes to this subject, in a speech on a pub- 
lic occasion in Boston, when he had num- 
bered seventy years : 

" To an old man. Memory is wont to be an 
arrant jilt, and is no way delicate in letting 
him know, that like the rest of her sex, she 
gives young men the preference." 

The fidelity of Memory, is doubtless more 
entire, for trusts committed to her in early 
life. She had then, fewer objects to divide 
her attention, and more room in her casket 
to arrange her accumulating stores. She 
attaches the highest value to what was 
gained with toil, so that the axioms and 
precepts which were deepened by education, 
seldom escape her. 

There are some who propose the use of 
written memoranda, as an expedient for 
mental retention. Yet they serve rather to 
nourish the sloth of Memory, than to gird her 



42 PAST MERIDIAN. 

for healthful action. Is it necessary that she 
should fail with years, unless the action of 
disease impairs some of those organs through 
whose agency she has heen accustomed to 
receive impressions ? 

The women of our aborigines were the 
keepers of the archives and legendary lore of 
their tribes. In extreme age, their powers 
of recollection have been observed to be per- 
manent and vivid. I saw one of the Mohegan 
nation, who had numbered one hundred and 
seventeen years. The skin upon her face 
and hands was rigid and mottled as the bark 
of a tree, and from her eyes light had long 
departed. Yet within, the lamp of memory 
clearly burned. She spoke of the state of 
her people, in the far-off days of her child- 
hood, of the terror they felt at the powerful 
and savage Mohawks, of the lineaments of 
different chieftains who had borne sway, and 
of the spreading strength of the whites, who 
like a great oak-tree overshadowed them. 
She graphically narrated many circumstances 



THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 43 

of the visit of her brother, the Rev. Samson 
Occum, to England, of the kindness that was 
shown him there by the great and good, the 
presents that were made him, and spoke 
especially of the books that he so proudly 
brought back to his native shores. 

I had also a valued friend, who reached 
the age of one hundred and one, whose 
memory was not confined to the impressions 
of early years, but took sympathetic cogni- 
zance of passing events. An amiable temper 
kept awake his interest in all around, and 
prevented the hermetical sealing of what 
only concerned his own early and imme- 
diate sphere. 

That infirmity of the retentive faculties is 
inseparable from advanced age, seems the 
general opinion. I would ask, if it is a con- 
dition of mind, exclusively confined to the 
old ? I think I have known the blooming 
and the vigorous to forget many things. The 
young girl may forget to learn her lessons, 
and the graduate of college, the lessons that 



44 PAST MERIDIAN. 

he has learned. The philosopher has been 
known to forget his own theories, and the 
eloquent statesman to pay his debts. It is 
not the exclusive province of grey hairs to 
forget attainments, resolutions or promises. 
There was a gentleman who had the reputa- 
tion of forgetting the precise hour that had 
been appointed for his marriage, and was 
found prolonging a walk, when the bridal 
party had assembled. Whether this was real 
forge tfulness, or affectation, I was not given 
distinctly to understand. But at any rate, 
he had not lost his memory through age. 

Consider what untiring efforts are made, 
to strengthen the retentive powers of the 
young. Stated lessons through their whole 
scholastic period, daily recitation and repeti- 
tion, conversation with teachers and fellow- 
pupils, deepening, riveting, incorporating 
knowledge with the very structure of the 
mind. Memory is thus made a prompt, 
active servant. She is strong through exer- 
cise. She has no time to idle away. She 



THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 45 

is busy, tinging dreams, even when the body 
sleeps. 

But we, who have been warned of her dis- 
position to become a deserter, take few pre- 
cautions to detain her. Perhaps w^e feed her 
on the old, mouldy corn, and neglect to give 
her a taste of the new harvest. Cognizance 
of passing things, as well as of recorded 
events, is essential to her healthful condition. 

I had a friend, God bless every memorial 
and mention of him, who to the verge of 
eighty, labored to preserve a naturally strong 
memory, not only by interest in the concerns 
of others, but by learning daily, by heart, 
something from books. Can we not form the 
habit of acquiring verbatim, every day, a few 
lines of poetry, or a single verse from the 
Bible ? 

Can't we remember ? I suspect the failure 
to be that of sufficient repetition. No one is 
interested to hear us. The child, w^hose first, 
faltering intonations, we fostered with paren- 
tal pride, is immersed in the cares of life, and 
5 



46 PAST MERIDIAN. 

cannot regard our fragmentary gleanings. 
We need not expect our children, or grand- 
children, to listen to our mental gatherings, 
as we have done to theirs. Friends and vis- 
itants, we would not wish to annoy, and thus 
the privilege of repetition, on which memory 
so much depends, is forfeited. 

An aged gentleman, who was not willing 
to lose the advantage of thus deepening the 
traces of a course of history he was pursuing, 
devised an ingenious expedient. A promis- 
ing youth, the expenses of whose education 
he was kindly defraying, came daily at a 
regular time, to read to him. He employed 
a portion of this interval, in a condensed 
statement of what he had perused in solitude, 
and was surprised to find how tenaciously it 
afterward adhered to remembrance. Thus 
the pupil unconsciously became a teacher, 
and the benefactor shared in his own gifts. 

Why would it not be well for neighbors 
who are advanced in years, to meet at allotted 
periods, and converse critically of the authors 



THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 47 

they are reading, and repeat what they have 
considered worthy to be committed to mem- 
ory ? If it should seem too much like a 
school, is there any objection to that ? Why 
might there not be schools for the aged, as 
well as schools of the prophets ? Life is a 
school. " I shall be thankful to die, learning 
something," said a wise man. 

The truth is, that Memory requires more 
culture, than the aged are inclined to give 
her. They take it for granted that she must 
decay, and antedate the time. They release 
her from service among the living present, 
and force her to look only backward, until 
the sinews of her neck are stiffened. One 
remedy for deepening what we do not wish 
to forget, is to teach it to others. An auditory 
of little ones will usually hang around the old 
person who tells them stories. Grave truths, 
and sacred precepts, may be thus enwrapped 
in " sugary narrative," with a salutary and 
lasting influence. One aged person who had 
been in the habit of briefly writing in a jour- 



48 PAST MERIDIAN. 

nal, from early life, found it profitable in his 
nightly self-examination, to trace back the 
same day through many years, recalling the 
dealings of divine providence with himself 
and others, and selecting some subject for the 
little descriptive entertainment his grand- 
children expected from him every morning. 

It has been already admitted that passing 
events are more difficult to be retained by the 
aged than those which were coeval with 
their prime. Is not the antidote, to mingle as 
much interest and affection as possible with 
the moving drama of life, and its actors ? to 
entwine around each new generation, the ten- 
drils of sympathy, not forgetting to "rejoice 
with them who do rejoice ? " Thus shall 
Memory, fed by kindly sympathies, like the 
Roman captive, nourished at his daughter's 
breast, endure and flourish. 

" Ah ! wlien sliall all men's good 
Be each man's care ? and universal love 
Strike like a shaft of light, across the land ? " 

Should it be felt, or feared, that in spite of 
every precaution. Memory indeed grows in- 



THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 49 

ert to intellectual gatherings, or to the routine 
of daily events, that she records not as for- 
merly the dates of history, or the names of 
men, let the heart breathe upon her. That 
is Ithuriel's spear. Though her key may 
have been so long used, that some of its 
wards are worn, Love's hand can turn it. 

Heart-memories are the most indelible. A 
woman of more than fourscore, in whom sick- 
ness had prostrated both physical and mental 
energies, failed to state correctly, even the 
number of her children. A friend endeavored 
to restore the imagery of active years, but in 
vain. At length, the circumstance of her 
father's leaving home to take a soldier's part 
in the war of our Revolution, was accidentally 
mentioned. It had called forth the deep 
anxieties of an affectionate family, when she 
was yet a young child. The fountain of the 
heart heaved, light came to her eye, and a 
tear glittered there, as she murmured, 

" I remember, — yes, — I remember his kiss 

5* 



50 PAST MERIDIAN. 

when he turned away from the door. It is 
warm on my cheek, now." 

If Memory is weary, it is safe to sustain her 
on the arm of that blessed charity which em- 
braces all mankind. The religion whose seat 
is in the affections, survives when polemic 
fervor and theological subtleties fade in obliv- 
ion. The instance of the aged clergyman, 
who forgot his boyhood's friend, the favorite 
son under whose roof he dwelt, and the dar- 
ling babe who was daily brought to nestle in 
his bosom, yet remembered the name of his 
" dear Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ," is well 
known, but always worthy of being repeated. 

If holy love thus keeps alive the memory, 
like living waters at its root, when its green 
leaves are crisp with frost, let us labor to 
strengthen that love toward God, and likewise 
toward this fleeting world, precious because it 
is His world, and His hand has placed us as 
pilgrims in it. Yet should we feel within 
ourselves, that Memory has become vacilla- 
ting or infirm, we will be in no haste to pro- 



THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 51 

claim it on the house-tops. There are enough 
who are ready and swift to publish the de- 
clension, if we admit it ourselves. Rather 
should we struggle to keep hold of the hand 
of that old and tried friend, as long as possi- 
ble. We will not expose her weakness, nor 
say that she has deserted us, while we can 
touch the hem of her garment. We will not 
see her go forth like Hagar, from Abraham's 
tent, without putting on her shoulder the 
water-bottle that she may refresh herself in 
the wilderness. Though she return no more 
to the oaks of Mamre, yet if we are at last so 
blessed as to meet the angels who visited 
there, she will be with them; for she is never 
to die. 



CHAPTER V. 



" The principle of beauty hath no age, 
It looketh forth, even though the eye be dim, 
The forehead frost-crown'd, yea, it looketh forth 
Like holy star, on all whom God hath made." 

The beauty of age ! Does any one call me 
ironical, or point the finger at me in derision ? 
Verily, I am speaking in good faith. 

Yet am I not ignorant of what Time takes 
away. I know that he is prone to steal from 
the eye its lustre, and from the Parian brow 
its smoothness. The round cheek falls away 
at his ploughshare, and the dimples disappear. 
The hair no longer abundant, leaves the bald 
crown, or withered temples unshielded. Its 
hues of chesnut, or auburn, or raven black, 
vanish, and the complexion, no longer relieved 
by their rich contrast, loses its tint of rose or 



BEAUTYOFAGE. 53 

lily, and settles into the trying companionship 
of iron grey or white. The erect form yields 
its dignity. The vertebral column bends, 
and the limbs resign their elasticity. Happy 
are they, who are compelled to call in no aid 
from crutch, or staff, to sustain their footsteps. 
The beautiful hand loses its plumpness, and 
bones and sinews and jagged veins become 
protuberant. Even the ear sometimes forfeits 
its delicate symmetry, and grows elephantine. 
The voice is prone to forget its harmony, or 
unmodified by its dental allies, "pipes and 
whistles in its sound." 

All these deteriorations, and more than 
these, I admit, yet boldly sustain my argu- 
ment, the beauty of age. 

Where is it ? In what does it consist ? 
Its dwelling is in the soul, and it makes itself 
visible by radiations that reach the soul; by 
the smile of benevolence, by limitless good 
will, by a saintly serenity, by the light of 
heaven, shining upon the head that is so 
near it. 



54 PAST MERIDIAN. 

The smile of Washington, which had always 
possessed a peculiar charm, gathered force 
and sweetness from the snows of time. One 
who was accustomed to meet him in the fam- 
ily, says, " Whenever he gave me one of these 
smiles, I always felt the tears swelling under 
my eye-lids." 

What an affecting sketch of the tranquil 
beauty of age on which death hath set its 
seal, is given in a letter from Pope, to an 
artist whom he desires to preserve the like- 
ness of the mother whose declining years 
were soothed by his filial love and duty. 

"My poor old mother is dead. I thank 
God that her death was as easy as her life 
has been innocent ; and as it cost her not a 
groan, or even a sigh, there is still upon 
her countenance such an expression of tran- 
quillity, nay, almost of pleasure, that it is 
amiable to behold. It would afford the finest 
image of a saint expired, that painter ever 
drew ; and it would be the greatest obliga- 
tion which that art could bestow on a friend. 



BEAUTYOFAGE. 55 

if you could come and sketch it for me. I 
hope to see you soon, ere this winter-flower 
shall have faded. I will defer the interment 
until to-morrow night. I know you love 'me, 
or I could not have written this, or indeed, at 
such a time, have written at all. Adieu. 
May you die as happy." 

At his villa of Twickenham, bought with 
the first fruits of his translation of Homer's 
Iliad, the poet sheltered and solaced this 
venerable mother. From her honored seat 
at his fireside, her tender, simple message 
cheered him amid his toils. " I send ypu my 
daily prayers, and I bless you, my deare.'' 
More touching and admirable was the inter- 
change of these hallowed sensibilities, than 
all the melody of his verse. 

Of the intrinsic beauty of age, I have been 
so happy as to see some distinguished speci- 
mens. My infant eyes opened upon one. 
My earliest perceptions of the beautiful and 
holy, were entwined with silver hairs, and I 
bless God, that the fourteen first years of life, 



56 PAST MERIDIAN. 

dwelt under their serene shadow. A fair 
countenance, a clear, blue eye, and a voice 
of music, return to me as I recall the image 
of that venerated lady, over whom more 
than threescore and ten years had passed, 
ere I saw the light. Her tall, graceful form, 
moving with elastic step through the parterres, 
whose numerous flowers she superintended, 
and her brow raised in calm meditation, from 
the sacred volume she was reading, were to 
me beautiful. Many sought to take counsel 
of her, both for the things of this life and the 
next, and her words were so uttered as to 
make them happier as well as wiser. The 
sorrowful came to be enlightened by the sun- 
beam that dwelt in her spirit, and the chil- 
dren of want for bread and a garment ; for 
her wealth was the Lord's, and when she 
cast it into His treasury, it was with a smile, 
as if she was herself the receiver. The 
beauty of the soul was hers, that waxeth not 
old. Love was in her heart to all whom God 
had made, a love not ending in blind indul- 



BEAUTYOFAGE. 57 

gence, but seeking to elevate them in the 
scale of existence. Thus it was until eighty- 
eight years had passed over her; and when 
she entered the exalted society for which she 
had been fitted here, tears flowed widely and 
freely, as for one in their prime. At her 
grave, I learned my first lesson of a bursting 
grief that has never been forgotten. Let 
none say that the aged die unloved, or un- 
mourned by the young. It is not so. 

Another, I knew^, without munificent en- 
dowment of mind, person, or position. Yet 
had he to the last, a beauty that love followed, 
the beauty of kind regard to all creatures, and 
of a perfect temperament that never yielded 
to anger. Hence, the wheels of life ran on 
without chafing, and in his eighty-eighth year, 
his step was as elastic as at twenty, the florid 
hue of his cheek unchanged, and his bright, 
brown hair, without a thread of silver. He 
loved the plants and flowers, and knew how 
scientifically to promote their welfare, and to 

enrich the dark, brown mould, with golden 
6 



58 PAST MERIDIAN. 

fruits, and fair vine-clusters. By these sweet 
recreations, life was made sweeter, and re- 
newed its pleasures, like the fresh spring- 
buds, and the bird that returns again to its 
nest after the winter. Sorrows he had tasted, 
but they left no cloud, only a deeper tender- 
ness for all who mourned. His rehgion had 
no mixture of coldness toward those who dif- 
fered from him, no exclusiveness, no bigotry. 
The frailties of those around, he regarded 
with gentleness, or with pity. He blamed 
not, upbraided not. On his loving soul, there 
was no slander-spot. His life was like one 
long smile, closing with a music-strain. And 
on it was written as a fair motto, " the man 
without an enemyJ" . 

From the sacred pictures of the departed 
that hang in the soul's temple, I would fain 
select another. It is of a friend, who in early 
years, suffered from feebleness of constitution, 
yet by care and temperance, so renovated his 
health, that age was to him better, and more 
vigorous than youth. A strong perception of 



BEAUTYOFAGE. 59 

the beautiful, both in nature and art, lighted 
up his mind with a perpetual sunbeam. His 
fine taste went hand in hand with a perfect 
philanthropy, so that what he admired, he 
patronized, and what he patronized, he 
spread abroad, that others might share his 
enjoyment. The gates of his spacious rural 
villa, were thrown open as a pleasure-ground 
for all the people, and with the treasures 
of literature and the arts, he enriched the 
noble public institute that he founded. 
"The holy truth walked ever by his side;" 
while independence of thought and action, 
with regard to men, was mingled with the 
deepest humility and reverence toward God. 
To draw merit from obscurity, to sustain 
honest industry, to encourage humble virtue, 
to stimulate the young to higher effort, and 
silently to relieve the suffering poor, were his 
pleasures. And with these pleasures would 
sometimes steal over his brow an expression 
denied to what the world calls beauty, "the 
set of features, and complexion, the tincture 



60 PAST MERIDIAN. 

of the skin, that she admires/' It was the 
beauty of the soul, looking forth in the life 
of one, who faithfully and without ostenta- 
tion, held his large fortune in stewardship 
for God and for man. 

By his side was a being of an angelic spirit, 
who strengthened all his high resolves, and 
tenderly divided his sorrows and his joys. 
Methinks I see her, as if she now sate beside 
me ; her delicate, upright, symmetrical form, 
the grace of her movements, the magic of her 
smile, the courteous manners, that charmed 
even the unrefined, the tasteful adaptation of 
costume to position, and the perfect judgment 
that led her to choose 

"Best means for wisest ends, and speak right words 
At fitting times." 

She was said to have been exceedingly 
beautiful in youth, but the portraits of that 
period bore no resemblance to her counte- 
nance in advanced years, so much had Time 
changed its structure. Yet she held a talis- 
man over which he had no power, a good- 



BEAUTYOFAGE. 61 

ness, disrobed of self, enchanting all that 
came within its sphere, and a trusting piety 
that knew no cloud. 

Thus she, and the companion of her days, 
made their childless home attractive to every 
visitant, until the verge of fourscore, when 
they entered a mansion not made with hands. 
She was first summoned, and through a lin- 
gering decline, sought strength from above, 
to adhere as far as possible to her habits of 
usefulness, and that gentle self-renunciation, 
which in promoting the good of others, forgot 
its own sufferings. As her step grew feeble, 
her brow became more sweetly serene, and 
daily she took her seat at the table, and the 
fireside, that she might cheer him by her 
presence, whose life of life was in her. 

The last night that she was with us below, 
she spent as usual, some time in her oratory, 
ere retiring to her chamber for repose. What 
the angels said to her, in that sacred seclu- 
sion, or what she said to her God, we know 



62 PAST MERIDIAN. 

not ; but at the midnight hour they came, to 
bear her to Him. And she was ready. 

It was not for us to hear their whisper, 
" Sister spirit, come away ! " but we saw that 
they left on the untroubled brow, a smile as 
calm, as holy as their own. And we gave 
glory to God, through our tears, for her 
blessed example, who had departed this life 
in His faith and fear. 

Countless instances might be adduced of 
the subdued and saintly lustre that marks 
the sunset of well-spent life. And it would 
be pleasant to me thus to enlarge, for it has 
been my privilege often to be near, and 
always to admire the " hoary head found in 
the way of righteousness." 

I must indulge myself and my readers 
with one more example. It is a description 
from the graceful pen of N. P. Willis, of his 
own beautiful rural life on the banks of the 
Hudson. 

" Our venerable neiglibor, of eighty years of age, who with 
his white locks, and face beaming with the benignity of a 



BEAUTY OF AGE. 



63 



summer's eveniDg, came back at the first softening of the 
season. He goes to the city — this beloved neighbor of 
ours — when the roads become impassable for his tremulous 
feet ; but he gains health, (as he was saying with his usual 
truthful wisdom to-day,) not alone from the sidewalks and 
other opportunities of exercise. In the mental ^ change of 
air^ he finds an invigorating tonic, (one, by the way, which 
I am glad of this bright example to assist in recommending 
to the dispirited invalid, for there is more medicine in it 
than would be believed, without trial,) and he inhales it in 
the larger field that he finds for the instructive benevo- 
lence which forms his occupation in the country. He 
passes his time in the city in visiting schools, hospitals, 
prisons — every place where human love and wisdom would 
look in together. He speaks fluently. His voice is singu- 
larly sweet and winning ; and, with his genial and beau- 
tiful expression of countenance, his fine features, and the 
venerable dignity of his bent form in its Quaker garb, he 
is listened to with exceeding interest. Children particu- 
larly, delight to hang on his words. One great charm, 
perhaps, is his singular retention of creativeness of mind — 
though so old, still continuing to talk as he newly thinhs, 
not as he remembers. The circumstances of the moment, 
therefore, suffice for a theme, or for the attractive woof 
on which to broider instruction, and he does it with a 
mingled playfulness and earnestness which form a most 



64 PAST MERIDIAN. 

attractive as well as valuable lesson. Can any price be 
put on such an old man, as the belonging of a neighbor- 
hood? Can landscape gardening invent anything more 
beautiful than such a form daily seen coming through an 
avenue of trees, his white locks waving in the wind, and 
the children running out to meet him with delight ? 

Friend S strolls to Idlewild, on any sunny day, 

and joins us at any meal, or lies down to sleep or rest on 
a sofa in the library — and can painting or statuary give 
us any semblance, more hallowing to the look and char- 
acter of a home, more cheering and dignifying to its at- 
mosphere and society? Among the Arts — among the 
refinements of taste — in the culture of Beauty, in Amer- 
ica — let us give Old Age its preeminence ! The best 
arm-chair by the fireside, the privileged room with its 
warmest curtains and freshest flowers, the preference and 
first place in all groups and scenes in which Age can 
mingle — such is the proper frame and setting for this 
priceless picture in a home. With less slavery to business, 
and better knowledge and care of health, we shall have 
more Old Age in our country — in other words, for our 
homes, there will be more of the most crowning beauty." 

Youth hath its beauty, tress and smile, 

And cheek of glowing ray ; 
They charm the admiring eye awhile, 

Then fade, and fleet away ; 



BEAUTYOFAGE. 65 

But Age, "witli heaven-taught wisdom crown'd, 

That waits its Father's will, 
And walks in love with all around, 

Hath higher beauty still. 

Are not the changes in man's Hfe, Hke 
those of the day and the seasons, beautiful ? 
Morn is fair, but we would not always have it 
morning. Noon is brilliant, but the wearied 
senses crave repose, as from the long excite- 
ment of an Arctic summer. Evening, with 
her placid moon through the chequering 
branches, disguises every blemish, bathes the 
simplest architecture in a flood of silver light, 
and makes the vine-clad cottage, and the an- 
tique column, alike beautiful. 

Even though it should chance to be winter, 
yet shrink not to come forth, with a heart to 
admire and love ; for through the bare trees, 
the silver queen of heaven looks down more 
clearly, and the untrodden snow-hills rejoice 
in her beam, and amid the pure, blue ether, 
the stars multiply, each giving secret sweet- 
voiced welcome to the soul that is soon to 
rise above their spheres. 



CHAPTER VI. 



" And now, behold, your tender nurse, the air, 
And common neighbor, that with order due 

Whene'er you breathe, doth in accordance move 
Now in, now out, in time and measure true ; 

And when you speak, so well the art she loves 
That doubling oft, she doth herself renew ; 

For all the words that from your lips repair 

Are but the countless tricks and turnings of the air." 

Sir John Da vies. 

The friendship of the elements for man is 
beautiful. To inspire his frail fabric with 
vitality, to warm, to refresh, and finally to 
cover it when it sleeps the dreamless sleep, 
are their kind and perpetual services. Each 
of these "ministering particles," have in their 
turn, won eloquent praise. 

Zoroaster and his followers deified the 



AIR. 67 

subtle Fire, in which they recognized the 
great vivifying principle of the universe. 
Pliny, and other ancient philosophers, ap- 
plauded the pervading love of the Earth for 
her offspring, which like a watchful mother, 
fed and clothed the creature of the dust, and 
lulled his latest sorrow in her bosom. Water, 
has been the favorite of the moderns, who 
have discovered in it new affinities with 
health, and almost uncontrollable agencies 
in the realm of nature. Our own simple 
remarks will be confined to the remaining 
element of Air, wiiich the quaint poet at their 
head, made some two hundred and fifty years 
since, a chosen theme for his verse. 

It may not, indeed, be subjugated by man 
to such varieties of servitude as some of its 
compeers, yet he can scarcely exist a moment 
without its permission. The earth, he bur- 
dens with palaces and pyramids, the pent 
fires do his bidding, and his ships rule the 
mountain- wave. But he inflates a balloon, 
and the storm-cloud overturns it, and per- 



68 PAST MERIDIAN. 

haps, takes the hfe of the headlong aeronaut. 
In his reverie, he builds a castle on the air, 
and where is it ? 

Yet this imperious and impervious element, 
the master of his life, how varied and earnest 
are its ministrations for his welfare. If he 
will systematically combine it with active 
exercise, it gives him strength and vigor. Of 
this, the advanced in years, seldom are suffi- 
ciently aware. They suffer lassitude to steal 
over them, till like the sleeper among Alpine 
snows, they arise no more. A daily walk or 
drive in the open air, preserves energy, and 
quickens the tide of sympathy for the living 
world. 

The mother country gives us, in this respect, 
good examples, if we would but heed them. 
Her young infants are sent forth in the fresh 
morning air. Her little ones gambol in 
the lawns and parks. Her ladies are great 
pedestrians, fearless of rain or cold. Her 
gentlemen, however burdened with impor- 
tant concerns, always find time for muscular 



AIR. 69 

action. Even those who have reached a 
patriarchal age, often persevere in equestrian 
exercise, that elegant form of recreation, 
which more than any other, keeps alive the 
consciousness of manly' power and dignity. 

I have seen in my own country, some 
striking instances of the protracted power 
and enjoyment of this invigorating exercise. 
Among childhood's unfading sketches of my 
native place, is the figure of a beautiful old 
man of eighty-four; Dr. Joshua Lathrop, of 
Norwich, Conn., who, until the brief illness 
that preceded dissolution, took daily eques- 
trian excursions, withheld only by very in- 
clement weather. Methinks, I clearly see 
him now, his small, well-knit, perfectly up- 
right form, mounted upon his noble, lustrous 
black horse, readily urged to an easy canter, 
his servant a little in the rear. I see the 
large, fair, white wig, with its depth of curls, 
the smartly cocked hat, the rich buckles at 
knee and shoe, and the nicely plaited ruffles, 
over hand and bosom, that in those days 



70 PAST MERIDIAN. 

designated the gentleman of the old school. 
Repeated rides in that varied and romantic 
region, were so full of suggestive thought to 
his religious mind, that he was led to con- 
struct a good little book, in dialogue form, on 
the works of nature, and nature's God, enti- 
tled, "The Father and Son," which we 
younglings received with great gratitude 
from its kind-hearted author ; juvenile works 
not being then so numerous as to be slightly 
prized. His quick, elastic step in walking, 
his agihty in mounting and dismounting his 
steed, as well as his calm, happy tempera- 
ture, were remarkable, and a model for 
younger men. 

But it is not necessary thus to turn to the 
far-off past, for examples of perseverance and 
grace, in this exhilarating exercise. Only 
a few months since, I saw the venerable 
Colonel White, of Danbury, Conn., then in 
his eighty-third year, on horseback, at the 
imposing ceremonies connected with the pub- 
lic erection of a monument to the memory of 



AIR. 71 

General David Wooster, the revolutionary 
patriot and martyr. Amid thousands that 
thronged the streets, he v^^as observed passing 
and re-passing, at an early hour, to the lofty 
Cemetery Hill, engaged in some preliminary 
arrangements for the splendid masonic rites 
that were to mark the burial of the fallen 
brave. As the long procession moved on, 
with civic and military pageantry, his spirited 
animal took fright at the unfurling of a banner, 
when the octogenarian rider (to whom he was 
a stranger, having given up his own horses 
for the services of the day) managed and 
controlled him with a serene self-possession 
and perfect skill, which few men in the 
prime of their strength could have surpassed 
or equalled. 

To those who have not habituated them- 
selves to equestrian exercise, a daily walk in 
the open air, not so far extended as to involve 
weariness or fatigue, is salutary even in ex- 
treme old age. To connect these excursions 
with a definite object, either the cherishing 



72 PAST MERIDIAN. 

of friendly intercourse, the sight of an 
interesting prospect, edifice or institution, 
or the dispensing some comfort to the abode 
of poverty, adds decidedly to their happy 
physical influence. 

Of Isaac T. Hopper, the benevolent Quaker, 
who till his eighty-first year, continued his 
daily researches through the streets of New 
York, on errands of mercy, with such pro- 
verbial activity, it was said, "he would 
scarcely allow the drivers to stop for him, at 
ascending or descending from their vehicles. 
Few ever passed him without asking who he 
was ; for not only did his primitive dress, 
broad-brimmed hat, and antique shoe-buckles, 
attract attention, but the beauty and benevo- 
lence of his face, were sure to fix the eye of 
ordinary discernment. He was a living tem- 
perance lecture, and those who desire to 
preserve good looks, need not ask a more 
infallible recipe than that sweet temper and 
active, overflowing benevolence which made 
his countenance so pleasing to all." 



AIR. 73 

Peregrine White, the first-born Saxon in 
NeAV England, the lone baby of Cape Cod, 
who opened his eyes ere the tossing May- 
flower touched Plymouth Rock, trod with 
firm step, until his death at eighty-four, the 
sands of Marshfield, taking with unshrinking 
breast, deep draughts of the bleak sea-air. 
His eldest daughter, Sarah, the wife of Mr. 
Thomas Young, of Scituate, Mass., inherited 
his hardihood, and love of the open air, and 
retained an unusual degree of health and 
mental activity, till the advanced age of 
ninety-two. Peregrine White, over whose 
honored remains, a monument is soon to be 
raised, served the colony with fidelity, both 
in civil and military offices. " He continued," 
say the ancient records, " vigorous and of a 
comely aspect to the last,'' battling the sharp 
breezes of a rock-bound shore, while monarch 
after monarch, reared in the luxury of palaces, 
fell from the throne of the parent realm. 

King James, the pedant, found a tomb, 
King Charles at Whitehall bled; 



74 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Stout Cromwell held a twelve years* rule, 

And slumber'd with the dead; 
The second Charles, with gibe and jest, 

His royal realm survey'd ; 
The second James in panic haste, 

Fled from the wreck he made ; 
William and Mary, hand in hand, 

Their sceptre's sway sustain'd; 
Queen Anne, the last of Stuart's line, 

In pomp and splendor reign'd: 
Seven sovereigns, from old Albion's throne. 

Stern Death, the spoiler, swept. 
While still his course erect and firm, 

New England's patriarch kept. 

Frequent open communion with the at- 
mospheric air, if not an absolute necessity of 
our being, seems an essential condition of 
vigorous health. The pursuits that promote 
that intercourse, such as horticultural, or 
floricultural, it is therefore desirable to cul- 
tivate. 

Once on inquiring for an aged man at his 
door, a bright-eyed boy said, 

" My grandfather has gone out on his 
morning-walk. I love to have him go, be- 



AIR. 75 

cause he always comes back pleasant and 
happy." 

The child had gotten the true philosophy 
of the case. We met the silver-haired friend 
returning with a freshened cheek, and a smile 
as if he rejoiced in the sweet air, and in Him 
who gave it. A kind word had he ever for 
all, and so he said cheerfully, 

" I have just set up a banner, to wave in 
the breeze, when I am dead." 

It seems he had been transplanting a shade- 
tree, of a species often destined to attain con- 
siderable size. 

''The soil was not congenial," he added, 
" so I had it removed for an area of three or 
four feet, and stepped into the pit myself, to 
place the roots and delicate fibres at ease in 
their new bed. I sprinkled at first, the pul- 
verized earth and rich compost over them, 
while my man added water gradually, tread- 
ing down the surface firmly, as much as to 
say to the new comer, 'keep at home,' and 
finishing with a cavity around the trunk, as 



76 PAST MERIDIAN. 

a casket to hold such pearl-drops as the 
clouds may see fit to give." 

Perceiving that his practical remarks were 
listened to with interest, he kindly pro- 
ceeded, 

"I caused the body and principal boughs 
to be bathed in soap-suds, and rubbed with 
a coarse cloth, to refresh it hydropathically 
after the trial of leaving its old home, and 
before the high winds of winter come, shall 
have stones laid around to keep the roots 
from being shaken and troubled. My wife 
takes an interest in these things. I love to 
have her hold the tree in its place, when I 
transplant it. I fancy it is more likely to 
grow, and get a blessing, if her hand has 
been on it. We planted a tree at the birth 
of all our children. Perhaps, we shall set 
out a grove, before we die." 

The animated countenance of the aged 
speaker, reminded me of the enthusiasm with 
which Sir Walter Scott used to expatiate on 
the " exquisite pleasures of planting." The 



AIR. 77 

greater part of the noble trees at Barley- 
Wood, were placed there by the hand of the 
venerable Mrs. Hannah More, and a cabinet- 
table, which she prized, and often pointed 
out to the attention of visitants, was inlaid 
with small diamond-shaped pieces of wood, 
from different trees of her own rearing. 
Those who in early life rejoiced in the cul- 
ture of flowers, their own emblem of hope 
and beauty, might with propriety in later 
years, transfer this care to the nurture of 
fruit and shade trees, those types of bounty 
and beneficence ; acceptable parting gifts to 
mankind, as well as to the birds of the air, 
who make their nests " and sing among the 
branches." 

To those whose infirmities preclude the 
pleasure of active exercise out of doors, there 
still remain restricted forms of fellowship with 
the renovating air, which it is important to se- 
cure. The invalid lady who perseveres as far 
as possible in her daily ride, notwithstanding 
lassitude or debiUty tempts to the indulgence 



18 



PAST MERIDIAN 



of repose, does not lose her reward. The 
blessed element, thus solicited, sustains the 
worn frame, and sweeps away many of the 
morbid fancies and groundless fears that dis- 
ease engenders. 

A lady, who was not able to bear the 
fatigue of systematic riding, told me she had 
maintained some degree of vigor, and perhaps, 
resisted pulmonary tendencies, by a brief yet 
systematic intercourse with the morning air, 
for a short time through her window. Open-; 
ing it, and wrapping herself in a shawl, if the 
current proved too fresh, she inhaled deep 
draughts, holding her breath until the minute 
vessels of the lungs were saturated with air, 
and then casting it off, by throwing out the 
arms to expand the chest. 

Mrs. Emma Willard, of Troy, in that re- 
markable treatise of hers, "On the motive 
powers that produce the circulation of the 
blood," thus describes a course by which 
she has been enabled long to persist in the 
preparation of those learned and elaborate 



AIR, 



7^ 



works which have given her so high a rank 
among American WTiters. After speaking of 
her care to preserve an equal and moderate 
degree of warmth, during the cold seasons, 

she says, 

" In the morning, I usually exercised about an hour, in 
accordance with some housekeeping habits. During the 
day, I took exercise once in two hours. Letting down the 
upper sash, and facing the current of fresh air, I began 
moderately, increasing my exercise until it became for a 
few moments violent, stepping backward and forward to 
keep my face to the window, and moving my arms in a 
manner to expand the chest. Then, as the quick, deep 
breathing came on, and the inspirations of air were as 
refreshing as water from a cool spring in summer, I 
checked my exercise to give full play to the respiratory 
organs, and when I had breathed the pure air till I was 
satisfied, closed the window, sat down and wrapped my 
cloak around me, to make for a few minutes longer, breath- 
ing my chief employ. The additional garment kept the 
heightened temperature which exercise had given, from 
passing off by evaporation, and I sat down to my writing, 
with fresh blood in my brain and hand, and with a warmth 
far more genial than that of a furnace heat. After dinner, 
I ' slept awhile,' and then employed myself in reading ; 
and after tea, completed the old rhyme by 'walking a 



80 PAST MERIDIAN. 

mile.' In the evening, I thus found myself as vigorous 
for writing as in the morning, and often wrote several 
hours before retiring." 

As the result of this system, she states, 
that at the end of three years and a half, 
during which, especially in the winter, she 
labored from twelve to fourteen hours a day, 
in study and writing, she had better health 
than at the commencement of these severe 
toils. This philosophical and Christian care 
of her physical welfare, has doubtless been 
repaid in the uncommon preservation of 
those energies, which from early youth were 
developed in the noble profession of a teacher 
and pioneer in the field of education. More 
than five thousand of her own sex, have been 
under her instruction, and in every State of 
our Union, they lovingly remember her. It 
is a source of satisfaction to her friends, that 
now, in her sixty-eighth year, she should be 
making her second tour in Europe, with a 
bright spirit, and much of the lingering come- 
liness of her early prime, cheered also by that 



AIR 81 

appreciation in foreign lands, which she has 
so well merited in her own. 

Air, wiiose free, loving embrace, greeteth 
every one who cometh into the world, should 
be gratefully welcomed until they go out of 
it. Painful contrast has taught its value to 
the pining sufferer in the fever- wards of some 
crowded hospital, and to the pale prisoner in 
his grated cell. The captives in the hideous 
" donjon-keeps " of the feudal times, or the 
wretched victims in the Black Hole at 
Calcutta, terribly tested the worth of that 
gift to which we are too often culpably 
indifferent. 

I hope to be excused for any minute or 
common -place detail, which may have occur- 
red in this chapter, and for having written 
con amore of what has seemed to me an im- 
portant adjunct, if not an essential element 
of that priceless possession, ''mens sane, in 
corpore sana'' 

But this subtle element of air, so powerful 

over our physical and mental organization, 
8 



82 PAST MERIDIAN. 

hath it aught to do with moral structure, or 
spiritual welfare ? Modified by eloquence, 
it rules the multitude of minds; swelling 
into music, it stirs up passionate admiration; 
wrought into words of compassion, it heals 
the broken in heart ; breathing from the soul 
of piety, it quickens the soul of others, as by 
the spirit of the Lord. 

Whom see we on yonder couch ? One, 
whose work on earth is finished. Air is 
about to forsake him. The lungs collapse. 
He is lifeless. 

Hath he then taken final leave of the air ? 
No. In the form of w^ords here uttered, of 
deeds that sprang from those womds, it shall 
confront him at the judgment. Of words 
which he hath spoken, air shaped into 
sound; — of deeds which he hath done, air 
shaped into action ; — must he give account. 

Let us therefore, dear friends, as long as 
we are dwellers in the body, beware how we 
use this wondrous element of air, lest that on 



AIR. 83 

which we have never laid our hand, should 
fearfully confound us, when the ^' books are 
opened, and the dead, small and great, stand 
before God." 



CHAPTER VII, 



" This is the place. Stand still, my steed, 

Let me review the scene, 
And summon from the shadowy Past, 

The things that once have been : 
For Past and Present here unite, 

Beneath Time's flowing tide. 
Like footprints hidden by a brook, 

But seen on either side." 

Longfellow. 



Germany, where the domestic anniversa- 
ries are the most pleasantly cherished, is dis- 
tinguished by a healthful growth of domestic 
happiness. The return of the marriage-day, 
of the births of children, grandchildren, and 
especially of the silver-haired grandparents, 
are seasons of fond and fervent congratula- 
tion. 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 85 

In that country, the Golden Bridal, as it is 
called, or the fiftieth anniversary of the mar- 
riage-day, is marked by ceremonies peculiarly 
striking and national. Preparations for a do- 
mestic festival are made, and the rooms richly 
adorned with flowers. The venerable pair, 
arrayed in their best garments, and sur- 
rounded by their children and near relatives, 
receive visitors and congratulations as if about 
to begin life anew. This sentiment pervades 
in some measure the whole entertainment. 
Wedding gifts are brought, and mingled with 
them are notes of love and good wishes, 
bursting forth, as the German heart is wont 
to do, into strains of poetry. 

A recent traveler, Mr. R. S. WilHs, has thus 
graphically described a scene of this nature, 
which he was permitted to witness. 

" The venerably youthful jDair sate side by side, in two 
great arm-chairs, the very picture of mellow and serene 
old age. Those capacious chairs were also among the 
gifts, having been exquisitely embroidered by fair hands. 
Suspended above them, hung their portraits, taken indeed, 
8* 



86 PAST MERIDIAN. 

at a much earlier period, but which seemed not half so 
beautiful in their youthful lineaments, as the venerable 
heads which now, in the calm Indian summer of life, rose 
beneath them. From two large vases below, on either 
side of the portraits, sprang two vigorous shoots of living 
ivy, ascending and enwreathing them, and forming a kind 
of triumphal arch over the couple beneath, whose accom- 
plishment of fifty years of such unclouded, exemplary 
married life, might well be regarded as a triumph, and as 
such be celebrated." 

Then follows an enumeration of the pres- 
ents, many of which w^ere costly, for the 
aged bridegroom having been a composer 
and teacher of music, had instructed some 
pupils of wealth and rank, who vied with 
each other on this occasion, in testifying their 
affectionate regard. A wreath of laurel was 
thrown over the snowy locks of the patriarch, 
and one of myrtle placed on the head of his 
companion, by a fair young girl of the Rhine, 
an affianced bride, who in her kiss besought 
the blessing of one who had so long beautified 
that "holy estate" upon which she, as a 
novice, was about to enter. 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 87 

After the dinner, where two long tables 
were filled by the descendants and guests, a 
deputation of the musical pupils assembled 
in an adjoining apartment, to cheer, by the 
melody of voice and instrument, the heart of 
their old master, and his friends. 

" No sooner," continues the narrator, " had he recogni- 
zed the performers, and the tones of his own, earlj devo- 
tional music, than lifting the little velvet cap which always 
covered his head, his silver locks floating out, and raising 
his glistening eyes to God, to whom these solemn strains 
were addressed, he seemed for a moment overcome with 
gratitude to Him." 

In our own land, these sacred household 
eras are sometimes regarded, though with less 
of romantic accompaniment. An instance of 
the quiet observance of the sixtieth anniver- 
sary, I have heard described, a rare occur- 
rence in this world of mortality. The age of 
both the parties exceeded fourscore, yet their 
forms were unbowed; there was even a lin- 
gering of early comeliness, and that smile of 
the spirit which gathers depth and meaning 



PAST MERIDIAN 



from long knowledge of this life, and firm 
hope of a better. They had entered in the 
bloom of youth, the conjugal relation, and 
"commended it in the sight of all men," 
by an example of stedfast affection, and 
amiable virtues. The children of three gen- 
erations surrounded them with affectionate 
reverence, and in the arms of one bright-eyed 
young mother, was the germ of a fourth, — a 
rose-bud within a rose. Among the antique 
things which were preserved and exhibited, 
were the small salver with which they com- 
menced house-keeping, and the very same 
little cups of transparent china, in which 
the young wife, threescore years before, had 
poured tea at her first hospitalities. Warm 
words of greeting cheered this festival, and 
a fair table of refreshments, while another 
was spread with love-tokens, and gifts of 
friendship. Among them was a simple 
offering, yet of singular significance ; a small 
parallelogram of the purest white marble, 
wrought into a double watch-case, and sur- 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 89 

mounted in the centre, by a cross of the 
same material. In the cavities, lined with 
crimson velvet, reposed the two watches 
of the aged pair, the golden links of their 
chains intertwined and enwreathing the cross. 
There were the monitors and measurers of 
time, long used, but soon to be needed no 
more, and the symbols of their own undying 
love, clasping the prop that could never fail 
or forsake it. 

Heartfelt cheerfulness marked this occa- 
sion, yet nothing that could war with the 
prayer and hymn which begun and closed it, 
for so many of the descendants shared in the 
piety of their honored ancestors, that such 
worship was in unison with their aspirations 
and joys. Sixty years to have w^alked hand 
in hand, helpful and loving, on their appointed 
way over mountain and flood, and through 
gardens wherein were sepulchres, lending the 
shoulder to each other's burdens, and keeping 
God's sunbeam bright in the soul; to have 
impressed the precepts of a Redeemer on the 



90 PAST MERIDIAN. 

young creatures who came into life under the 
shadow of their tree of love, and to become 
themselves more and more conformed to 
"the example of His great humility," is a 
victory not only to be admired on earth, but 
approved in Heaven. 

A pleasant custom is it to remember the 
birth-days of our coevals, and of those older 
than ourselves. A few words of congratula- 
tion, a few cheering wishes for the future, 
convincing them that they are neither forgot- 
ten nor disregarded, will be of more real 
value than costly gifts. Affectionate referen- 
ces to the path in which they have walked, 
and the home toward which they draw near, 
aid in giving strength for their remaining 
pilgrimage. 

It is true, that to prolonged years, funeral 
anniversaries multiply. Many of our way- 
marks are tombstones. We may render 
there, the offering of a strewn flower, and a 
faithful tear. Yet the tribute should be in 
silence, between God and our own soul, for 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 91 

we need not sadden the living with the 
ghosts of our buried joys. 

Still, these " oaks of weeping," may yield 
a salutary influence. The poet has well said, 
that he best " mourns the dead who lives as 
they desire." The return, both of their na- 
tivity and departure may be made serviceable 
to the living, if we then give new vigor to 
their example, continue their good works, or 
complete their unfinished characters. I had 
a friend who consecrated the birth-day of the 
loved ones who had gone before, by some 
labor in their favorite field of benevolence, or 
in that sphere of charitable eifort, which he 
knew they would have approved had it been 
presented to them. The heart of some sad 
orphan, or of some lonely widow, was made 
glad, some cell of sickness entered, as by an 
angel of mercy, the page of knowledge spread 
for ignorance, and salvation on mission-wings 
sent to those who sate in the shadow of 
death. 

Was not the melody of such gratitude 



92 PAST MERIDIAN. 

heard in heaven ? Was it not a memorial 
meet for glorified spirits? Touched it not 
their pure brows with a new smile, that their 
entrance into high Heaven's bliss, should 
have annual record of praise and thanksgiving 
on earth? 

" Again returns the day/' says the mourn- 
ful mother to her heart, " in which my darling 
child, the light of my eyes, went down into 
silence. The very hour draws nigh, when 
for the last time his eyes beheld and blessed 
me, and his hand would fain have once more 
clasped mine. Ah ! how*faint was its tremb- 
ling pressure ; its chill entered into my soul. 

" Many charities did he love ; for his sake 
will I cherish them. He felt for the toil- 
worn sailors, 'mounting up to the heavens, 
going down again to the depths, their souls 
melted because of trouble.' I will send a 
donation to the good men who have combined 
to shelter them, and teach them the way to 
Heaven. 

" He pitied those from whose dim eyes the 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 93 

beautiful things of creation were shut out. 
The poor blind shall be made glad through 
him, this day. 

" How his eye kindled with varying emo- 
tion, as he read in his young boyhood of the 
mutiny in the ship Bounty, — of the open boat 
in which Bhgh and his fellow-sufferers doled 
out the bullet's weight of bread, and the few 
water-drops so long, — and of the Crusoe set- 
tlement on Pitcairn's island, from wiience as 
good may spring out of evil, now rises the 
Sabbath worship of a little Christian commu- 
nity. A token of his remembrance shall go 
forth to that lone oasis of the Pacific. 

" How he loved little children. When he 
was himself a child, he wished^to give every 
destitute one, food and a garment, and a book. 
The orphan institution shall be reminded 
through my gifts, of his birth-day. And if my 
heart should single out any one^from that 
number, to provide for, to watch over, and to 
guide on life's future way with maternal coun- 
sels, I know it would be pleasing to the 



94 PAST MERIDIAN. 

departed, for in such things he ever took de- 
light. 

" He revered the old and gray-headed? 
however poor and despised. I will seek 
them out this day, in their desolate abodes, 
and put into their withered hands, his alms, 
and speak such kind words, as shall bring joy 
like a sunbeam, over their furrowed brows. 
And when they would fain express their grat- 
itude, I will say, ' Thank not me ! I have 
done it for his sake \—for Ms sake' " 

So, the mother was comforted for her son, 
and found that solace from his birth-day in 
heaven, which it had never given her while 
he dwelt in tents of clay. 

But for us, who having passed far on our 
journey, and lost many friends, are tempted 
to linger long among the graves, it is pecu- 
liarly desirable, that cheering anniversaries 
should have free scope, and predominate. 
We had rather shed a sunbeam than a mid- 
night chill. Let us render the birth of every 
new year, and each return of the season of 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 95 

our dear Redeemer's nativity, a time of joy- 
to every heart within the sphere of our influ- 
ence, not overlooking the low^liest servant, or 
the humblest child. It is better to be harm- 
less finger-posts, pointing to paths of innocent 
happiness, than flaming swords to fright away 
the traveler from Eden. 

Pleasant mirth, and amusing recollections 
of earlier days, are medicinal to the old, and 
not uninteresting to younger auditors. Per- 
haps the following original Valentine, which 
has never before been published, may serve 
to illustrate the sprightliness of mind that 
sometimes lingers amid declining years. 

"'Tis more than threescore years and ten, 

Our life's allotted span, 
Since first in youthful, happy days, 

Our friendship true began. 
'Tis more than threescore years and ten, 

Since as a joyous child, 
I played with you on Stratford Green, 

In many a frolic wild. 

As I look back upon those years. 

Threescore and ten and five. 
Of all the mates we numbered then. 
But we two are alive. 



96 PAST MERIDIAN. 

We two, of all that liappy band, 
Of sportive girls and boys, 

Who wept together childish griefs, 
Or smiled o'er childish joys. 

And we're far down the vale of years, 

And time is fleeting fast, 
Yet I would be a child once more, 

And live again the past. 
Years seventy-five ! how thrills my heart, 

As memory bears me back. 
To tread again with buoyant steps. 

My girlhood's sunny track. 

But in life's retrospect I see, 

Full many a saddened scene. 
For life has not been all a play. 

On dear old Stratford Green. 
We've drank, dear friend, its mingled cup, 

Of sorrow and of joy, 
Since I was but a sportive girl, 

You a free-hearted boy. 

We both were blest with many friends. 

How few are left alive ! 
The dearly loved have passed away, 

And yet we still survive. 
We still survive, and it may be 

A year, perhaps a day. 
When like the loved ones gone before. 

We too, shall pass away. 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 97 

God grant, that In life's parting hour, 

Our toils and labors done, 
We may go gently to our rest, 

As sinks yon setting sun. 
When "we were young, were stirring times, 

The age of iron men, 
Who rung the trumpet's warlike shout. 

From every hill and glen ; 

Who stood for country and for home. 

For liberty and life ; 
* God and the riglit^ their battle-cry, 

They conquered in the strife. 
'Tis true, we were but children then, 

But we remember well. 
How many a heart was desolate. 

How many a patriot fell. 

For oft, the parent on his knee, 

Would seat his lisping child, 
And tell strange tales of battle scenes, 

And legends stern and wild; 
And oft our childish cheeks were blanch'd, 

And childish tears would flow, 
As wonderingly we listened then, 

To deeds of blood and wo. 

But joy best suits the youthful heart, 

Its pulse is light and free, 
And so, as it has ever been, 

It was, with you and me. 

9* 



98 PAST MERIDIAN. 

And still your boyhood's sports went on 
My girlhood's laughter rung, 

For in those days of sternest deeds, 
Both you and I were young. 

Do you remember, dear old friend, 

The simple village school, 
Where Mr. Ayres taught little folks, 

To read and write by rule ? 
Children were timid, teachers stern, 

In those our youthful days. 
When, copy-book in hand, we went. 

Trembling, to seek his praise. 

And when you won the wished-for boon, 

And I stood sadly by, 
You often caused a ray of hope. 

To light my downcast eye. 
No matter what the teacher said. 

Fresh from your generous breast. 
Came to my ear the flattering words, 

That mine was always best. 

Do you remember that I sent 

You then, a Valentine ? 
Fine sentiment perhaps it lacked. 

But love breathed in each line. 
It seems but yesterday, these five 

And seventy years ago, 
You then had owned no other belle. 

And I no other beau. 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 99 

I in return, a ribbon got, 

Bright with true love's own hue, 
And much it pleased my girlish taste, 

For 'twas the bonniest blue. 
But childhood quickly passed away, 

And hearts were lost and won, 
And you soon owned another love, 

And I, another John. 

With him, I journeyed many a year, 

Happy and blest were we, 
He lived to see his bairnies' bairns. 

Prattling upon his knee. 
We climbed ' thegither up the hill,' 

But down alone I go, 
And soon, ' thegither at its foot,' 

With him I'll lay me low. 

Yet not alone, for loving hearts. 

Are left in children dear. 
Who in my downward path of life, 

Smooth each declining year. 
And oft, to glad my aged eye, 

My children's children come. 
And merry laughter rings again, 

In my old happy home. 

For you, sole mate of earliest days, 

I've cast a backward eye. 
Along the changing track of time, 

As swift it hurried by. 



100 PAST MERIDIAN. 

And forward may we dare to look ? 

Another opening year 
Hath dawned upon us, and its close, 

May scarcely find us here. 

One may be taken, one be left, 

It may be I, or you, 
Still, while we live, dear early friend, 

Shall live our friendship true. 
My years now number eighty-eight, 

And yours are eighty-nine. 
Yet once more, as in days of yore, 

Accept my Valentine." 



CHAPTER VIII. 



fatrictir %ttQlhctuM. 

" The brave, great spirits who went down like suns, 
And left upon the mountain-tops of death, 
A light that made them lovely." 

A. Smith. 

What chronology is to history, are dates 
to the memories of actual life. They give 
adhesiveness and force, to impressions that 
might else be desultory, and perishable. 

What mathematics are to the mind, they 
may also be to the heart, adding stability 
and power to its better sentiments and affec- 
tions. Sweet and salutary is it, to review 
the varied events of God's providence, with 
regard to ourselves or others, on the return 
of their respective anniversaries. By thus 
deepening the imagery, and refreshing the 



102 PAST MERIDIAN. 

€olors on our moving diorama, we may renew 
a grateful sense of His goodness, perhaps 
make more permanent the benefits of His 
discipUne. 

National anniversaries give fervor to the 
patriotism of a people. I have seen the 
whole heart of England stirred up on the 
fifth of November, from the white-robed 
priest, and the chanting choir in the cathe- 
drals, to the merry urchins let loose from 
school, who scarcely knew whether to de- 
nounce or laud the " Gunpowder plot," that 
had given them a holiday. Yet a truer fel- 
lowship and stronger nationality sprang from 
this general sympathy of gratulation. 

The birth of our own country, so peculiar 
in itself, and so fraught with blessings to her 
children, should be warmly and reverently 
regarded. That event might be so embalmed 
and brought forward year by year, as to per- 
petuate the blessings which first flowed 
from it. 

The fourth of July, 1776, is a date that 



PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 103 

every American remembers, from the snows 
of Wisconsin, to the Floridian orange-groves, 
from the sounding shores of the Atlantic, to 
the new found cUme of gold. A wanderer 
perchance, on Chimborazo, or in the Eternal 
City, or among the tropic isles, or daring, with 
frost-bound sails, the ices of the Arctic zone, 
he bares his head at his country's birth-day, 
and his heart quickens with their proud joy, 
who of old exclaimed, " / am a Roman citu 
zenJ' So may it ever be, while God shall 
hold in his protecting hand, our hallowed 
Union. 

An aged friend, whose birth was on the con- 
secrated fourth of July, 1776, never failed till 
the close of life to rejoice in that circumstance, 
as a heritage of glory. That this anniversary 
should have been marked by the transition 
to another world, of two of the venerable 
signers of our Declaration of Independence, 
each having been dignified by the highest 
office in our country's power to bestow^, adds 
almost a mysterious sacredness to its historic 
interest. 



104 PAST MERIDIAN. 

John Adams, whose far-reaching mind saw 
the incipient rights of his native land, when 
in the chrysalis of her colonial state, she un- 
derstood them not, — who with boldness and 
enthusiasm, unfolded and demanded them, — 
to whom, next to Washington, she first 
accorded the honor of her chief magistracy, 
lay at the age of ninety, on his dying couch, 
at his fair, paternal estate in Quincy, (xMass.,) 
where he first drew breath, surrounded by 
objects of his fondest love. 

It was a holy siglit 
To look upon that venerable man, 
Remembering all bis honors, all his toils, 
And knowing that his earth-receding grasp, 
Was on the anchor of eternal life. 

It was on the fourth of July, 1826. Rais- 
ing his head from the pillow, the last bright- 
ness gathering in his eye, he said, ''It is the 
glorious Fourth, God bless it. God bless 
you all. This is a great and glorious day." 

And so, he resigned his spirit. 

On the same day, Thomas Jefferson, his 
friend and compeer in toils and counsels for 



PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 105 

a nation's liberty, the third President of these 
United States, at his Virginian home of Mon- 
ticello, which he had beautified by taste and 
hospitaUty, received, while still lightly bear- 
ing the burden of eighty-three years, that 
guest who Cometh but once to the children 
of men. It was his fearless pen, rich in 
varied literature, that drafted our Declaration 
of Independence : 

Forth from his pen of might, 
Burst that immortal scroll, 
Which gave a living soul, 
To shapeless clay ; 
It said " Let there be light," 
And the old startled realms beheld a new-born day. 

John Adams, among his latest words, had 
said, ''Jefferson survives:' Yet almost at the 
same hour of the day that completed the 
fiftieth year of that nation's hfe, the beating 
of whose infant pulse they had counted and 
registered, both those great men expired. 
As Solon shrouded his head and departed, 
that the mystery of his absence might add 
10 



106 



PAS T MERIDIAN, 



•efficacy to the laws he had established for 
Athens, they gave to their country's first 
jubilee, that last solemn seal which death 
sets on love and patriotism. 

The twenty-second of February, the birth- 
day of Washington, should be regarded with 
demonstrations of national enthusiasm and 
gratitude. Especially should they who stand 
most in proximity to those tempestuous times 
which his wisdom helped to change into the 
broad sunlight of freedom, speak of the vir- 
tues of that king of men, to those who are in 
the forming period of life. Not as a warrior, 
would w^e chiefly commend him; that was a 
prominent exigence to which he was called 
by Heaven, and in which he conducted nobly, 
but we press on the imitation of those who 
are to come after us, his disinterested patriot- 
ism, his patience in adversity, his unsw erving 
truth, his wisdom in the greatest matters, his 
just attention to the smallest, the punctuality 
of his dealings with all men, the godlike dig- 
nity, the serene, unostentatious piety, which 



PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 107 

made a more perfect balance of character 
than has appertained to any hero in any age. 

Another approach to a remarkable coinci- 
dence of dates, is the death of the venerable 
John Quincy Adams, just on the completion 
of half a century from that of the " Pater 
Patriae/' and also within a single day of the 
anniversary of his birth. He was himself the 
sixth President of the United States, and the 
only son of the second who had sustained 
that honor. Though he had reached the age 
of eighty-four, he still kept his seat among 
the representatives of our nation, at Wash- 
ington, watching with keen eye and unim- 
paired intellect, whatever concerned her 
vitality or renown. It was on the morning 
of February 21st, 1848, that he appeared in 
the lofty halls of Congress, with his usual 
vigor, and gave in a clear, emphatic voice, 
his vote on the opening question. 

Suddenly there was a cry, '^ Mr. Adams is 
dying ! " Throngs rushed to the side of that 
"old man eloquent," and bore him fainting 



108 PAST MERIDIAN. 

to a sofa in an inner apartment. Partially 
recovering from insensibility, he said slowly, 
" This is the end of earth.'' 

Then, he added an assurance of his calm- 
ness and preparation, and relapsed into silent 
repose, until the evening of the twenty-third, 
when the country whom he had so long 
served, mourned at the tidings that he was 
no more. 

Thus fell nobly at his post, and in the man- 
ner that his patriot heart might have chosen, 
this man of stainless integrity, of universal 
acquirements, of diplomatic training from 
early boyhood, and one of the few in whom 
precocity of talent continues to advance 
through the whole of life, and to ripen amid 
the snows of age. 

But not in the splendor of the fame of 
statesmen or chieftains, would we lose the 
memory of others, who, in humbler stations, 
gathered firmly around the endangered cra- 
dle of our common country. Some of these 
were our own sires. By the hearth-stone, 
they have told our listening infancy, of toils 



PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 109' 

and privations, bravely and cheerfully borne. 
It becomes us to impress them on our chil- 
dren, who amid the luxurious indulgences of 
a great and prosperous land, can scarcely 
imagine the hardships and dangers by which 
its freedom was wrought out. 

Standing as we do, literally as well as 
politically, on the "isthmus of a middle 
state," it seems incumbent on us to deliver 
unimpaired to a future age, such records as 
the Past may have entrusted to our care. 
The liberty which was enkindled upon our 
own altars, amid blast and tempest, should 
be guarded as a vestal flame. The voice of 
the actors in those "times that tried men's 
souls," speaks through us. Let us strive that 
it may enkindle pure love in some young 
heart, to that native land, which, though it 
has indeed gained a proud seat among the 
nations, has still the same need of protection 
from their virtues, that it once had from their 
fathers' swords. 

The patriotism which we would fain cher- 
10* 



110 PAST MERIDIAN. 

ish, by keeping in life and freshness the 
events of our earlier history, struck deep and 
true root in the hearts of the softer sex, amid 
the storms of revolution. The privations 
which they contentedly and bravely endured, 
should not be forgotten. In many a lowly 
home, from whence the father was long sun- 
dered by a soldier's destiny. Woman stifled 
the sigh of her own hardships, that she might 
by her firmness, breathe new strength into 
her husband's heart, and be 

" An undergoing spirit, to bear up 
Against whate'er ensued." 

How often, during the long war, did the 
mother labor to perform to her little ones, 
both the father's duties, and her own, having 
no refuge in her desolate estate, and unresting 
anxiety, save the Hearer of Prayer. 

I have often reflected on a simple narration, 
which a good and hoary-headed man, who 
had passed the bounds of fourscore, once 
gave me. 



PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. Ill 

" My father was in the army, during the whole eight 
years of the Revolutionary War, at first as a common 
soldier, afterward as an officer. My mother had the 6ole 
charge of us, four little ones. Our house was a poor one, 
and far from neighbors. I have a keen remembrance of 
the terrible cold of some of those winters. The snow lay 
so deep and long, that it was difficult to cut or draw fuel 
from the woods, or to get our corn to mill, when we had 
any. My mother was the possessor of a coffee-mill. In 
that, she ground wheat, and made coarse bread, which we 
ate and were thankful. It was not always, that we could 
be allowed as much even of this, as our keen appetites 
craved. Many is the time that we have gone to bed with 
only a drink of water for our supper, in which a little 
molasses had been mingled. We patiently received it, for 
we knew our mother did as well for us as she could, and 
hoped to have something better in the morning. She was 
never heard to repine, and young as we were, we tried to 
make her lovely spirit and heavenly trust, our example. 
When my father was permitted to come home, his stay 
was short, and he had not much to leave us, for the pay 
of those who achieved our liberties, was slight, and irreg- 
ularly rendered. Yet when he went, my mother ever 
bade him farewell with a cheerful face, and not to be anx- 
ious about his children, for she would watch over them 
night and day, and God would take care of the families of 
those who went forth to defend the righteous cause of their 



112 PAST MERIDIAN. 

country. Sometimes we wondered that she did not men- 
tion the cold weather, or our short meals, or her hard 
work, that we little ones might be clothed and fed and 
taught. But she would not weaken his hands, or sadden 
his heart, for she said a soldier's lot was harder than all. 
"We saw that she never complained, but always kept in her 
heart, a sweet hope, like a well of living water. Every 
night ere we slept, and every morning when we arose, we 
lifted our little hands for God's blessing on our absent 
father, and our endangered country." 

The principal events in the history of our 
native land, arranged according to their dates, 
would be profitable to us, both as a review, 
and an exercise of memory. Thus might we 
with more variety and freshness, impart to 
the young, that which they could not so well 
gather from books, details of the self-sacrifice, 
the courage and the piety which God recom- 
pensed with the life and liberty of a nation. 
Thus, might we perchance, lift a banner, slight, 
yet not powerless, against venality and luxury 
and ambition, those banes of a republic, which 
pollute the pure sources of patriot health. 

The diligent formation, and regular refer- 



PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 113^ 

ence to a daily list of dates founded on uni- 
versal history, is a salutary habit. Every day 
in the year, has, doubtless, more than one 
feature of distinction, "if men would carefully 
distil it out." Though not an historic fact of 
importance, it would probably bear the record 
of the birth or death of some individual whose 
biography it would be pleasant to review, or 
impress on others. For if an ancient writer 
has truly said, that ^'^the moral beauty on 
which we fix our eyes, presses its own form 
upon our hearts, making them fair and lovely 
with the qualities that they behold," the 
lives of the great and good must be profit- 
able to hold before the contemplation of 
plastic youth. 

Hints derived from our daily list of anniver- 
saries, with some tact in avoiding prolixity, 
might be rendered valuable to the young 
who surround us. Let us hazard any asper- 
sion of pedantry that might chance to flow 
from it. Ridicule of that sort, should be 
pointless to us. If through adduced illustra- 



114 PAST MERIDIAN. 

tion or example, we may be made the medi- 
um of implanting some great truth or holy 
precept, which shall bear fruit for our coun- 
try after we are dead, let us neither shrink 
or loiter ; for the time is short. 



CHAPTER IX. 



If a diamond was ours, at the opening of day, 
Because it is eve, shall we cast it away ? 

Accomplishments for old people? Yes. 
And why not? It would seem as if the 
world thought they had no right to them. 
Whereas, having been obhged to part with 
many personal attractions, there is the more 
need that they should take pains to make 
themselves agreeable. 

Every other period of life has its peculiar 
prospect of improvement, and its prescribed 
modes of promoting it. What care is ex- 
pended to teach childhood the theory of 
language. Through ignorance, grammatical 
error, and solecism, it steadily advances, 



116 PAST MERIDIAN. 

nothing daunted, or discouraged. What 
efforts are put forth to induce the young to 
make the most of any attainment they may 
possess, and strenuously to acquire those in 
which they are deficient. And this is right. 
Maturity has its beautiful occupations, its hal- 
lowed responsibilities, and an array of resist- 
less motives to excel in each. 

Nothing seems expected of the aged but to 
put themselves decently away into some dark 
corner, and complete the climax of the great 
poet, '^ second childishness, and mere obliv- 
ion." Let's see about that. Why not adopt 
the suggestion of another poet, to " live while 
we live ? " 

In looking about us for some relief, or loop- 
hole through which to escape, forgive me, if 
I hint what at first view might seem trifling, 
the preservation of a cheerful countenance, 
and a neat, becoming costume. Inattention 
to these points is prone to mark those who 
feel themselves of little consequence in soci- 
ety, and the effect is to render them still 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 117 

more disregarded. "A merry countenance," 
said Jeremy Taylor, " is one of those good 
things which no enemy or persecutor can 
take away from me." 

On the subject of apparel, whose import- 
ance, ladies may, at least, be ready to admit, 
Madam Hancock, the dignified consort of the 
President of our First Congress, used to say, 
'^ I can never forgive any person in good soci- 
ety for not being well dressed, or for thinking 
of themselves after they are dressed." To a 
very advanced age, she was herself, a fine 
illustration of her theory. 

The stimulant of example, also, as well as 
of precept, is strenuously brought to bear 
upon the young, in their different departments 
of study and accomplishment. For instance, 
in the science of music, requiring the daily, 
laborious practice of years, emulation is con- 
tinually exerted. More than one fair aspirant 
has cheered her long session at the piano, by 
recaUing what was said of the captivating 

Ann Boleyn, that " when she composed her 
11 



118 PAST MERIDIAN. 

hands to play, and her voice to sing, it was 
joined with such sweetness of countenance 
that three harmonies concurred." 

What a striking picture ! Though waning 
years may preclude from this combination 
of three harmonies, yet be it known to all 
whom it may concern, that there have been 
old people who retained, and even made 
progress in what the world styles accomplish- 
ments. I have had the honor of being ac- 
quainted with ladies, who after the age of 
eighty, excelled in the various uses of the 
needle, executing embroidery by the evening 
lamp, and sitting so erect, that younger per- 
sons, more addicted to languid positions, 
asserted that " it made their shoulders ache 
to look at them." I am in possession of 
various articles, both useful and ornamental, 
wrought by the hands of such venerable 
friends, and doubly precious for their sakes. 

The widow of our great statesman, Alex- 
ander Hamilton, to many other feminine ac- 
complishments, continued to a great age, the 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 119 

exquisite uses of the needle, and still, (I be- 
lieve,) at ninety-eight, is remarked for the 
ease and courtesy with which she receives 
and entertains her guests. 

Mrs. Madison was distinguished, not only 
while in the presidential mansion, where she 
won the heart of every visitant, but through- 
out a long life, by one of the most kindly and 
queenly natures that ever belonged to woman. 
So fully developed and unchangeably sus- 
tained were her social powers, and brilliance 
of conversation, that after the age of eighty, 
I have often seen her in the elegant assem- 
blages at the court of our nation, address to 
every person some appropriate remark, or 
touch some train of familiar thought, that 
would make the embarrassed at ease, or the 
happy, happier. She was unwilling, even for 
hours, to indulge in the repose of a seat, lest 
some one should escape her notice, whom she 
might cheer, or gratify. Especially, when 
children were present, she never forgot, or 
overlooked the youngest, but with admirable 



120 PAST MERIDIAN. 

tact had something to say, which they might 
take with them as a pleasant memory for 
future years. 

In the high and rare attainment of elegant 
reading, I have never known any lady so con- 
spicuous to advanced age, as the mother of the 
late Bishop Wainwright. Her distinct articu- 
lation, and perfect emphasis, made listening a 
pleasure, and drew out the full beauty of the 
thought which they rendered vocal. To her 
also belongs the high praise of having formed, 
in early boyhood, the habits and style of elocu- 
tion, of her distinguished and lamented son. 

Many precious pictures have I, in that niche 
of memory's gallery, where the hoar-frost 
sparkles. One of these, I must indulge my- 
self in transferring. It is entwined with the 
scenery of my own native place. I see again, 
a tall, dignified lady, whose elastic step, age 
failed to chain. High intellect was hers, the 
stronger for being self-taught, and a place 
among the aristocracy, that she might the 
more plainly show the beauty of gentle man- 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 121 

ners and a lowly heart. In the varieties of 
conversation, which, without pedantry or dis- 
play, unveil extensive learning and suggestive 
thought, I have never known any of my own 
sex, her superior; I was about to have said, 
her equal. Fabrics of use and of taste, she 
wrought and ornamented, and with her deli- 
cate scissors, imitated the beauties and won- 
ders of the animal and floral world. Children, 
she especially charmed by these efforts of 
her skill, as well as by her great descriptive 
powers, ever keeping in view their instruction 
as well as pleasure. Clustering around, they 
listened, holding their breath, lest they should 
lose a w ord. She also delighted themj with 
the sweetness of her ancient and sacred songs, 
for to the verge of fourscore and ten, her mu- 
sical powers remained, a source of wondering 
gratification to all around. Even now, those 
swan-like melodies that enchanted my earli- 
est years, revisit me, rich, clear, and softened 
by the lapse of years, as if borne over un- 
troubled waters. 
11* 



122 PAST MERIDIAN. 

The time would fail me to tell of her ex- 
cellent knowledge in all that appertained to 
the domestic sphere; as it also would to 
mention other ladies in my own New Eng- 
land, who in the delicate elements of that 
great feminine attainment, good housekeep- 
ing, yielded neither energy or skill to the 
frosts of seventy years, but dexterously con- 
tinued to touch every clock-work spring, on 
which the order and comfort of a blessed 
home depend. 

I would venture to number among accom- 
plishments, though the classification may be 
deemed rather antiquated, those simpler forms 
of feminine industry which promote comfort 
and respectability. A lady of eighty-four, in 
one of the smaller towns of Connecticut, took 
great pleasure in these unostentatious em- 
ployments. During one year, she completed, 
at intervals of time, with her quiet knitting 
needles, forty-eight pairs of stockings, beside 
constructing from fragments of calico, two 
large bed-quilts, one of them containing more 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 123 

than three thousand pieces, symmetrically 
arranged. The fabrics were principally for 
the accommodation and relief of needy per- 
sons ; so, that with the peaceful consciousness 
of time industriously improved, was blent the 
higher satisfaction of benevolence : a wise 
exchange for the lassitude and morbid sense 
of uselessness which is sometimes suffered to 
steal like a canker over declining years. 

It would be quite impossible here to enu- 
merate, those of the other sex whom it has 
been my ' privilege to know, who in their 
various departments and professions, derived 
added dignity from age ; merchants, whose 
mental acuteness time seemed to have re- 
fined; physicians, whose large experience 
gave such confidence to the sick as to prove 
an element of healing; jurists, whose time- 
tried judgments were as beaten gold ; divines, 
whose silver locks were a talisman to the 
hearts of their hearers; statesmen, whose 
eloquence was never more fervid or vigorous 
than when their sun went down. 



124 PAST MERIDIAN. 

A gentleman, whose period of collegiate 
education had been cut short by the absorb- 
ing toils of a life at sea, having found in 
advanced years a haven of repose, resumed 
with zeal, the perusal of the classics, remark- 
ing, that after fourscore he had been led deci- 
dedly to prefer them to his native tongue, 
which was " so easy as not to keep the mind 
awake." I have often found him deeply en- 
gaged over the pages of Cicero, or Homer, in 
the original, his eye brightening at every gem 
of genius, and his florid complexion pure with 
temperance, reminding one of Miss Mitford's 
description of the beauty of her own venera- 
ble father. 

A genius for the fine arts, we sometimes 
see evolved, at a late period of life. This has 
been the case with the adopted son of Wash- 
ington, George W. P. Custis, Esq., who since 
the age of seventy, has executed a series of 
large historical paintings, representing prom- 
inent scenes in our Revolution, and present- 
ing, in various attitudes, the Pater Patriae, 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 125 

with the warmth of a fihal pencil. This fine, 
self-taught accomplishment, is associated with 
one of earlier acquisition, that of music ; and 
the stirring melodies of other times, which 
occasionally echo through the lofty halls of 
Arlington, from the violin of their master, be- 
tray no indication that the frosts of fourscore 
have already settled upon his temples. 

The efforts that sustain social intercourse, 
and the attractions that adorn it, are in our 
Republic, too soon laid aside. Of these, the 
gray-haired seem in haste to absolve them- 
selves, as of a burden, or a sin. In France, 
they are kept in constant and prosperous ex- 
ercise. The idea of being superannuated, 
seems not there to have entered the mind 
of the people. The aged are received in 
mixed society, as marked favorites, and bear 
their part with an inextinguishable naivete. 
Many instances of this, I beheld, with admir- 
ing wonder. One evening, in particular, I 
recollect being interested in watching Isabey, 
the celebrated miniature painter, of Paris, 



126 PAST MERIDIAN. 

who, with hair like the driven snow, gUded 
through the mazes of the dance, at a state 
ball given by the elegant Marchioness Lava- 
lete, the agility of his movements not at all 
impaired by more than eighty years, nor the 
graceful courtesy with which he delighted 
to introduce and bring into notice, his fair, 
young wife, while frequent allusions to their 
home, proved how affectionately their hearts 
turned thither amid all the gaieties of fashion. 

Yet it is not in mercurial France alone, 
that men " frisk beneath the burden of four- 
score." The philosophic Socrates, though 
not, indeed, at quite so ripe an age, used to 
dance, and play upon the lyre ; one, to pre- 
serve his physical vigor, and the other to tune 
and elevate his mind with cheerfulness. 

Macklin, after he had numbered a full cen- 
tury, appeared on the stage, and in the char- 
acter of the Jew Shylock, held his audience 
in absorbed attention. He also successfully 
occupied himself in revising and remodelling 
his own dramatic compositions. 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 127 

It will be said that these instances are ex- 
ceptions, rather than examples that we may 
hope to reach. Of some, this is true; but 
from others we derive encouragement and 
hope. If at the age of eighty, Cato thought 
proper to go to school to learn Greek, why 
should we not consider ourselves scholars, as 
long as aught remains to be learned ? Yes, 
life is ever a school, both in its discipline and 
its aspirations. Let us take our places in that 
class, who both learn and teach. We will 
speak of the manifold goodness of God, which 
we have so long tested, and strike that key- 
tone of praise, whose melody will be perfected 
in Heaven : — 

" Yet oh ! eternity's too short, 
To utter all His praise." 

Among the highest accomplishments of 
age, are its dispositions. It should daily cul- 
tivate the spirit to admire what is beautiful, 
to love what is good, and to be lenient to the 
faults of that infirm nature of which all are 



128 PAST MERIDIAN. 

partakers. As sensual pleasures lose their 
hold, the character should become more sub- 
limated. While we would avoid that fixed- 
ness which repels new impressions, and resists 
improvements as innovations, let us seek the 
accomplishment of an active, unslumbering 
benevolence. 

Dear friends, whom I love better for the 
linked sympathies of many years, do some- 
thing to be remembered when you are 
gone. Let your words, either spoken or 
written, bring forth fruit when you are dead. 
Endow a school. Open a fountain. Plant a 
tree. Put a good book in a cottage, or a 
public library. It was a beautiful reply of a 
white-haired man, to the question why he 
should trouble himself to be setting out a 
pear-tree, who could scarcely hope to taste 
its fruits, "Have I all my life long, eaten from 
trees that the dead have planted, and shall 
not the living eat of mine ? " 

Let us hold to the spirit of progress, and 
the capabilities of improvement of this im- 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 129 

mortal nature, as long as it sojourns in the 
flesh. "There is no reason/' said a clear- 
minded philosopher, "why we should not 
make advances, as long as we are in a state 
of probation. '^ 

If our pilgrimage is almost finished, does 
that create a need to forfeit our admira- 
tion, or relax our pursuit of " whatsoever is 
fair, lovely, or of good report ? " " Excel- 
sior," may as well be our motto, at the close, 
as at the commencement of life's journey. 

If we are indeed, so near the Better Land, 
as to catch the whispers of its camp, hear we 
not, in a great voice, as of many harpers, the 
inspiring strain, " Forgetting the things that 
are behind, reach forth unto those that are 
before!" and is there not in our own hearts, 
an answering chant, as of antiphonal music, 
"Not as though we had attained, or were 
already perfect. But w^e follow after." 



12 



CHAPTER X. 



*' Say ye, who through the round of eighty years 
Have prov'd life's joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, 
Say, is there not enough to meekness given. 
Of light from reason's lamp, and light from Heaven, 
To teach us where to follow, what to shun. 
Or bow the head and say, God's righteous will be done ? " 

Mrs. Barbauld. 

The motto here selected, was composed by 
the venerable author, after she had passed the 
bounds of fourscore. In her well-regulated 
mind there was no disposition to disparage the 
comforts that linger around the later stages 
of human life. Why should this ever be the 
case ? Many of its enjoyments have, indeed, 
run their course; their lease having expired 
by limitation of time. Yet others remain. 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 131 

the birth-right of advanced years, which it is 
both unjust and unwise, not to appreciate. 

We have spoken of the privileges of age. 
Has it in reaUty, any inherent honors, emol- 
uments, or immunities, to justify such an 
assumption ? 

Originally, it was in possession of a charter, 
sanctioned by divine authority, demanding 
reverence for the hoary head, and for the 
counsel of those to whom years had given 
wisdom. Modern times have modified this 
distinction. Our own republic has been pro- 
nounced by observant foreigners, deficient in 
the sentiment of respect. Still, among well- 
trained and noble natures, there will be ever 
a disposition to honor those who have long 
and well borne the burdens of time, and a 
veneration for the " hoary head, if found in 
the way of righteousness." 

Should we inquire if age has any emolu- 
ment, we are reminded of the wealth of 
experience. Are not the whole beautiful, 
ever-moving world of the young, in poverty 



132 



PAST MERIDIAN, 



for the want of it ? searching, trying, tasting, 
snatching at garlands and grasping thorns, 
chasing meteors, embarking on fathomless 
tides, and in danger of being swallowed up 
by quicksands ? The aged, through toil and 
hazard, through the misery of mistake, or the 
pains of penitence, have won it. Safe in their 
casket, are gems polished by long attrition, 
and gold-dust, well-w^ashed, perchance, in 
fountains of tears. 

"Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, for it bears a laden 

breast, 
Still, witb sage experience, moving toward the brightness of the 

west." 

Has age any immunities ? Its sources of 
revenue seem to be negative rather than pos- 
itive. It has probably dissolved partnership 
with personal vanity. And was not that a 
losing concern ? There remains no conscious- 
ness of beauty, no feverish hope of admiration, 
no undue excitement of competition, no be- 
wilderment from flattery, to put out of sight 
higher purposes, or exclude more rational 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 133 

pleasures. The consequent gain, both of 
leisure and quiet, must be great. Has it not 
also a respite from the toils of money-getting, 
from that science of accumulation which is 
but practical slavery? It is surely time. 
Having borne the yoke for many years, rising 
early, and late taking rest, and eating the 
bread of carefulness, it would be desirable to 
taste the sweets of such enfranchisement, 
while yet '' the lamp holds out to burn." 

In age, is not the over-mastering force of 
the passions broken ? Is it as irascible at 
opposition as when the current of life rushed 
fiercely on, battling all obstacles with the 
impetuosity of a cataract ? Is it still led in 
blind and deep captivity as of yore, by 

" Love, Hope and J07, fair Pleasure's syren train, 
Hate, Fear and Grief, the family of Pain ? " 

If a more serene and self-sustained philoso- 
phy is a natural concomitant of age, is it not a 
privilege for which to give thanks ? 

Yet not in exemptions alone, do the advan- 
12* 



134 PAST MERIDIAN. 

tages of the aged consist. Have they not 
more aid, and stronger promptings to disinter- 
estedness, than in the earUer stages of their 
journey ? The young acquire accompUsh- 
ments, that they may be distinguished, or 
admired; the old strive to continue agree- 
able, that they may please or edify others. 
The man of mature years toils to achieve 
wealth, as a means of influence ; the study of 
the old is, or should be, how to dispense it. 
Their business is to shower back upon the 
earth, the gifts she has bestowed, having no 
further expectation from her, save of a couch 
in her bosom. Since those who have the 
slightest admixture of self, escape countless 
discomforts by which others are annoyed, the 
aged are assisted by their condition, to find 
that happiness which is more independent of 
" things that perish in the using." 

" That which they are, they are, 
Made weak by time, perchance, but strong in will. 
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." 

If to compensate for the visible losses of 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 135 

time, there are correspondent gains, less obvi- 
ous, but still secure, it concerns all to under- 
stand their amount, that they may be able to 
balance the books, ere the Master calleth for 
an account of their stewardship. An ancient 
writer has well remarked, that Nature, after 
having wisely distributed to all the preceding 
portions of life, their peculiar and proper en- 
joyments, can scarcely be supposed to have 
neglected, like an indolent poet, the last act 
of the human drama, and left it destitute of 
suitable advantages. 

The God of nature has decreed to every 
season of life, its inherent happiness, and 
fitness for the end it was intended to serve. 
In spring, fair blossoms glow even among the 
grass-blades, and in summer, the fruit-laden 
boughs are clothed with beauty. Vigorous 
autumn comes with his reaping-hook, and 
peaceful age awaiteth the Lord of the harvest. 
Not unmindful of its privileges, or reluctant to 
restore the mysterious gift of life, should it 
watch for His coming. 



136 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Age should clothe itself with love, to resist 
the loneliness of its lot. Yet it sometimes 
cherishes a morbid and mistaken conscious- 
ness that it no longer retains the power of con- 
ciliating affection. It has been beautifully said 
that " the heart is as warm after life's day's- 
work is over, as when it began; after the har- 
ness of manhood is cast off, as before it was put 
on. The love generally felt for genial and 
kindly old persons, with their unselfish sym- 
pathies, their tried judgment, and their half- 
mournful tenderness toward those they are 
soon to leave, has not been enough remem- 
bered in poetry. Their calm, reliable affec- 
tion, is like the Indian summer of friendship.'' 

The aged, especially those whose conquest 
of self is imperfect, are prone to under-rate 
the advantages that remain. Their minds 
linger among depressing subjects, repining 
for what "time's effacing fingers" will never 
restore. Far better would it be to muse on 
their privileges, to recount them, and to re- 
joice in them. Many instances have I wit- 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 137 

nessed, both of this spirit, and the want of it, 
which left enduring impressions. 

I well remember an ancient dwelling, shel- 
tered by lofty, umbrageous trees, and with 
all the appendages of rural comfort. A fair 
prospect of hill and dale, and broad river, and 
distant spire, cheered the vine-covered piaz- 
zas, through whose loop-holes, with the sub- 
dued cry of the steam-borne cars, the world's 
great Babel made a dash at the picture with- 
out coming too near. Traits of agricultural 
life, divested of its rude and sordid toils, 
were pleasantly visible. A smooth-coated, 
and symmetrical cow, ruminated over her 
clover-meal. A faithful horse, submissive to 
the gentlest rein, protruded his honest face 
through the barn window. A few brooding^ 
mothers, were busied with the nurture of 
their chickens, while the proud father of the 
flock, told with a clarion-voice, his happiness* 
There were trees, whose summer fruits were 
richly swelling, and bushes of ripening ber- 
ries, and gardens of choice vegetables. Those 



138 PAST MERIDIAN. 

who from the hot and dusty city, came to 
breathe the pure air of this sylvan retreat, 
took note of these "creature-comforts/' and 
thought they added beauty to the landscape. 

Within the abode, fair pictures and books 
of no mean literature adorned the parlors ; in 
the carpeted kitchen, ticked the stately old 
family-clock, while the bright dishes stood in 
orderly array upon the speckless shelves. 
Visitants could not but admire that union 
of taste and education, which makes rural 
life beautiful. It might seem almost as an 
Elysium, where care would delight to repose, 
or philosophy to pursue her researches with- 
out interruption. But to any such remark, 
the excellent owner was wont mournfully to 
reply, 

" Here are only two old people together. 
Our children are married and gone. Some 
of them are dead. We cannot be expected 
to have much enjoyment." 

Oh, dear friends, but it is expected that 
you should. Your very statement of the 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 139 

premises, is an admission of peculiar sources 
of comfort. 

" Two old people together,'' Whose sympa- 
thies can be so perfect ? And is not sympa- 
thy a source of happiness ? Side by side ye 
have walked, through joys and sorrows. 
You have tried the refiner's fire, that fuses 
hearts into one. You have stood by the 
grave's brink, when it swallowed up your 
idols, and the iron that entered into your 
souls formed a living link, that time might 
never destroy. Under the cloud, and through 
the sea, you have walked hand in hand, heart 
to heart. What subjects of communion must 
you have, with which no other human being 
could intermeddle. 

" Two old people J' Would your experience 
be so rich and profound, if you were not old ? 
or your congeniality so entire, if one was old, 
and the other young ? What a blessing that 
you can say, there are two of us. Can you 
realize the loneliness of soul that must gather 
around the words, ''left alone!'' How many 



140 PAST MERIDIAN. 

of memory's cherished pictures must then be 
viewed through blinding tears ? how feelingly 
the expression of the poet adopted, " 'tis the 
survivor dies ? " 

" Our children are married and gone J' 
Would you have it otherwise ? Was it not 
fitting for them to comply with the institution 
of their Creator ? Is it not better than if they 
were all at home, without congenial employ- 
ment, pining with disappointed hope, or in 
solitude of the heart? Married and gone! 
To implant in other homes, the virtues they 
have learned from you. Perchance, in newer 
settlements to diffuse the energy of right 
habits, and the high influence of pure princi- 
ples. Gone / to learn the luxury of life's most 
intense affections, and wisely to train their 
own young blossoms, for time and for eternity. 
Praise God that it is so. 

" Some are dead'' They have gone a little 
before. They have shown you the way 
through that gate where all the living must 
pass. Will not their voice of welcome be 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 141 

sweet in the skies ? Dream ye not sometimes 
that ye hear the echo of their harp-strings ? 
Is not your eternal home brought nearer, and 
made dearer by them ? Praise God, 

I once knew an aged couple, who for more 
than sixty years had dwelt in one home, and 
with one heart. Wealth was not theirs, nor 
the appliances of luxury, yet the plain house 
in which they had so long lived, was their 
own. Humble in every appointment, that 
they might keep free from debt, they were 
respected by people in the highest positions, 
for it w^as felt that they set a right example 
in all things. Every little gift, or token of 
remembrance from friends, and all who 
knew them were friends, awakened the 
fresh warmth of gratitude. Though their 
portion of this world's goods was small, benev- 
olence being inherent in their nature, found 
frequent expression. Always they had by 
them, some book of shght expense, but of 
intrinsic value, to be given as a guide to the 

young, the ignorant, or the tempted. Cor- 
13 



142 PAST MERIDIAN. 

dials also, and simple medicines for debility, 
or incipient disease, they distributed to the 
poor, for they were skillful in extracting the 
spirit of health from herbs, and a part of the 
garden cultivated by their own hands, was a 
dispensary. Kind, loving words had they for 
all, the fullness of their heart's content, brim- 
ming over in bright drops, to refresh those 
around. 

That venerable old man, and vigorous, his 
temples slightly silvered, when more than 
fourscore years had visited them, how freely 
flowed forth the melody of his leading voice, 
amid the sacred strains of public worship. 
His favorite tunes of Mear and Old Hundred, 
wedded to these simply sublime words, 

" While shepherds watched their flocks by night," 

and 

" Praise God, from whom all blessings flow," 

seem even now to fall sweetly, as they did 
upon my childish ear. These, and similar 
ancient harmonies, mingled with the devout 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 143 

prayers that morning and evening, hallowed 
his home and its comforts; she, the loved 
partner of his days, being often, sole auditor. 
Thus, in one censer, rose the praise, which 
every day seemed to deepen. God's good- 
ness palled not on their spirits, because it had 
been long continued. They rejoiced that it 
was ^Miew every morning, and fresh every 
moment." 

By the clear, wood-fire in winter, sate the^ 
aged wife, with serene brow, skillfully busy 
in preparation or repair of garments, as per- 
fect neatness and economy dictated; while 
by the evening lamp, her bright knitting- 
needles moved with quickened zeal, as she 
remembered the poor child, or wasted inva- 
lid, in some cold apartment, for which they 
were to furnish a substantial covering. 

In the later years of life, their childless 
abode was cheered by the presence of a 
young orphan relative. She grew under 
their shadow with great delight, conforming 
her pliant heart to their wishes, and to the 



144 



PAST MERIDIAN. 



pattern of their god]y simplicity. When 
they TV ere seated together, she read to them 
such hooks as they chose, and treasured their 
Christian counsel. Her voice in the morning, 
was to them as the carol of the lark, and they 
seemed to live again a new life in her young 
life. She was to them " like the rose of Sharon 
and the lily of the valley." 

Love for the sweet helplessness of unfolding 
years, seemed to increase with their own 
advancing age. Little children, who know 
by instinct where love is, would draw near 
them, and stand lamb-like at their side. 
Thus they passed on, until more than ninety 
years had been numbered to them. They 
were not weary of themselves, or of each 
other, or of this beautiful world. Neither 
was Time weary of bringing them, letter by 
letter, the full alphabet of a serene happiness, 
and when extreme age added the Omega, 
they were well-educated to begin the bliss 
of Eternity. 



CHAPTER XL 



" Their age was like a second winter, 
Frosty, but kindly." 

Shakspeare. 

An opinion has been expressed that literary- 
labors, or habitual excursions into the regions 
of imagination, are adverse to the continuance 
of health, or even the integrity of intellect. 
Grave charges, truly ! and examples to the 
contrary, may be easily adduced. 

Premature death, and mental declension, 
are confined to no profession or condition of 
life. Too early, or undue stress laid on the 
organs of the brain, is doubtless fraught with 
disastrous consequences. Still, their con- 
stant, and even severe exercise, may comport 

both with physical welfare and longevity. 
13* 



146 PAST MERIDIAN. 

It is indeed, true, that Swift "expired a 
driveller and a show," but not until he had 
passed seven years beyond the span allotted 
to human life ; and the amiable author of the 
"Task," closed his pilgrimage in a rayless 
cloud, at sixty-six; and Walter Scott sank 
at sixty-one, under toils too ambitiously pur- 
sued for the safe union of flesh with spirit ; 
and Southey, whose reckless industry pre- 
cluded needful rest, subsided ere sixty-eight, 
into syncope and the shadow of darkness; 
and Henry Kirke White faded at twenty-one, 
in the fresh blossom of his young renown; 
and Byron at thirty-six, rent the fiery armor 
of genius and of passion, and fled from the 
conflict of life. 

Yet Goethe, unimpaired by the strong 
excitements of imagination, saw his eighty- 
second winter; and the sententious architect 
of the " Night Thoughts," reached fourscore 
and four ; and Voltaire, at the same period, 
was still in love with the vanity of fame ; and 
Corneille continued to enjoy his laurels till 



LITERABY LONGEVITY. 147 

seventy-eight ; and Crabbe, at an equal age, 
resigned the pen which had sketched with 
daguerreotype minuteness the parsing scene. 
Joseph Warton, until his seventy-ninth year, 
made his mental riches and cheerful piety 
sources of delight to all around him ; Charles 
Wesley, on the verge of eighty, called his 
wife to his dying pillow, and with an inex- 
pressible smile, dictated his last metrical 
effusion; and Klopstock, the bard of the 
"Messiah," continued until the same period 
to cheer and delight his friends. Isaac Watts, 
laid down his consecrated harp at seventy- 
four ; and our own Trumbull, the author of 
"McFingal," preserved till eighty-two, the 
bright, clear intellect, whose strains had 
animated both the camp and the cottage. 
The illustrious Metastasio detained the ad- 
miring ear of Italy, until eighty-four; and 
Milton, at sixty-six, opened his long-eclipsed 
eyes on " cloudless light serene," leaving to 
the world the mournful memories of "Lost 
Paradise," with living strains of heroic and 



148 PAST MERIDIAN. 

sublime counsel. Mason was seventy-two, 
ere the "holy earth/' where his ''dead 
Maria" slumbered, admitted him to share 
her repose; and the tender Petrarch, and 
the brave old John Dryden, told out fully 
their seventy years, and the ingenious La 
Fontaine, seventy-four; while Fontenelle, 
whose powers of sight and hearing extended 
their ministrations to the unusual term of 
ninety-six years, lacked only the revolution 
of a few moons to complete his entire century. 
Those masters of the Grecian lyre, Anacre- 
on, the sweet Sophocles, and the fiery-souled 
Pindar, felt no frost of intellect, but were 
transplanted as evergreens, in the winter of 
fourscore; at the same advanced period, 
Wordsworth, in our own times, continued 
to mingle the music of his lay with the mur- 
mur of Rydal's falling water, and Joanna 
Baillie, to fold around her the robe of tragic 
power, enjoying until her ninetieth year, the 
friendship of the good, and the fruits of a fair 
renown ; Montgomery, the religious poet, so 



LITERARY LONGEVITY. 149 

long a cherished guest, amid the romantic 
scenery of Sheffield, has just departed at the 
age of eighty-two; and Rogers, who gave us 
in early life, the "Pleasures of Memory," 
now, the most venerable poet in Europe, and 
probably in the world, is cheered at ninety- 
three, with the love of all who ever came 
within the sphere of his amiable virtues. 

So much for the poets, who have been ac- 
cused of burning out the wheels of life, in the 
flames of passion and the vagaries of imagin- 
ation. 

"The solace of song," says Southey, "cer- 
tainly mitigates the sufferings of the wounded 
spirit. I have sorrowed deeply, and found 
comfort in thus easing my mind; though 
much of what I wrote at such times, I have 
never let the world see." 

True Poetry has also affinity with the 
higher harmonies of our being, — with religion 
and its joys. Gathering the beautiful from 
nature, and soaring into the realm of fancy 
for what reality withholds, she feeds her 



150 PAST MERIDIAN. 

children on angels' food. She looks to the 
stars, and hears melodies that are above their 
courses. 

Of wits and humorists, Cervantes fed on 
his ovt^n mirthful conceptions, to the verge of 
threescore and ten, and Lady Mary Wortley 
Montague, until two years beyond it, in- 
dulged her lively and capricious tempera- 
ment ; and Sidney Smith, at seventy-six, 
retained in a remarkable degree his intel- 
lectual keenness and originality. 

Literary pursuits seem not to have been 
adverse to the happiness or longevity of 
females. Mrs. Hoffland and Miss Jane Por- 
ter, reached seventy-four, in dignity and 
honor; Mrs. Chapone, seventy-five; Mrs. 
Piozzi, the biographer of Dr. Johnson, eighty- 
one; Miss Burney, eighty-eight ; Mrs. Carter, 
eighty-nine; and the venerated Hannah More, 
died only one year younger, having with in- 
defatigable industry, composed eleven books, 
after she had numbered her sixtieth birth- 
day. Mrs. Ehzabeth Montague, and Mrs- 



LITERARY LONGEVITY. 151 

Sherwood, lived to be eighty-one ; and Mrs. 
Barbauld, to a more advanced age. Of the 
latter, it was said by Mrs. Mary L. Ware, 
who visited her in 1823, " Though now 
eighty-two, she possesses her faculties in full 
perfection ; her manner is peculiarly gentle, 
her voice low and sweet, and she speaks of 
death with such firm hope, that I felt as if I 
were communing w^ith a spiritual body." 

Didactic and philosophical writers, seem 
often, in their calm researches, to have found 
refuge from that strife of thought which em- 
bitters or shortens existence. 

Plato, wove for the men of Attica, his beau- 
tiful and sublime theories, to the age of 
eighty-one ; and at eighty-five, John Evelyn 
closed his eyes at his fair estate in Wotton, 
which he had embellished both as a naturalist 
and an author, engraving on his marble mon- 
ument, as the result of long experience,, that 
" all is vanity which is not honest, and that 
there is no solid wisdom but in real piety." 
The diligent and acute Bentley, reached four- 



152 PAST MERIDIAN. 

score; and Walker, seventy-five; and Dr. 
Samuel Johnson, "whose name is a host," 
attained the same age, having with charac- 
teristic energy applied himself to the study of 
the Dutch language, but a short time before 
his death. Scaliger and Parkhurst fell only 
a few months short of threescore and ten ; 
Ainsworth passed three years beyond it; 
Dr. Noah Webster, of our own New Eng- 
land, retained unimpaired until eighty-four, 
his physical and mental health, with the rich 
store of his varied attainments. Lindley 
Murray, at more than eighty, continued in 
the active duties of Christian philanthropy; 
and the philologist, Mitscherlich, the Nestor 
of the German schools, and uncle to the 
famous chemist of that name, died recently 
at Gottingen, at the age of ninety -three. Sir 
Isaac Newton, as illustrious for Christian hu- 
mility as for intellectual greatness, laid down 
his earthly honors at eighty-five ; and Frank- 
lin, who in the words of Mirabeau, '' stole the 
lightning from Heaven, and the sceptre from 



LITERARY LONGEVITY. 153 

tyrants/' cheered us with the mild radiance 
of his philanthropy till eighty-four ; and Her- 
schel rose above the stars, with which he 
had long communed, at eighty, while his sis- 
ter, whom he had so kindly made the com- 
panion of his celestial intercourse, survived 
until ninety-seven. Yet it was not our inten- 
tion to gather from the lists of science, its 
multiplied examples of ripe age and rare fame, 
but rather devote our prescribed limits to the 
ajfinities of literature with longevity. 

The sympathies that spring from commu- 
nity of labor in the field of intellect, are salu- 
tary and graceful. Those minds that are 
above the petty asperities of rivalship, have 
often thus enjoyed a friendship of singular 
depth and fervor. This seems to have been 
the case with many of the distinguished wri- 
ters of England's Augustan age. Frequent 
association led to intimacy of plan and pur- 
suit. They criticised each other's works, 
and in the attrition of kindred vspirits, found 
that as "iron sharpeneth iron, so doth the 
14 



154 PAST MERIDIAN. 

countenaace of a man, his friend." It has 
been finely said of Pope, that he "reverenced 
his equals in genius, and that of those friends 
who surpassed him, he spoke with respect 
and admiration." Of Gay it was asserted, 
by one of his literary associates, that " every 
body loved him." Even the witty and sar- 
castic Swift, shrank to open a letter which 
he feared might announce the fatal termina- 
tion of a sickness that oppressed this friend. 
It lay long on his cabinet, unsealed, and was 
afterward endorsed by him, as communica- 
ting the mournful event of his " dear friend 
Gay's decease, received December 15th, but 
not read until five days after, by an impulse 
foreboding some misfortune." One would 
scarcely have expected such sentimentality 
from the fierce-tempered Dean of St. Patrick's; 
but literary friendship softened him. The 
intellectual communion of Addison and Steele, 
cemented an interesting attachment ; and the 
majestic old Johnson, though with less of 
mental congeniality for Goldsmith, still, with 



LITERARY LONGEVITY. 155 

affectionate regard, excused his eccentricities, 
praised his talents, and rejoiced in his repu- 
tation. 

This amiable and salubrious element of 
intellectual intercourse, is by no means con- 
fined to any particular age, or country. In 
Germany, where native and noble impulse is 
the least fettered by conventionalism ; in 
France, where genius and the labors of litera- 
ture, open the gate of distinction more readily 
than a key of gold ; and in our own free land, 
where more than in any other, knowledge is 
the heritage and glory of the people, there are 
many examples of unity of heart between 
those, who in different departments, advance 
the great work of mental progress. 

The Lake Poets, Wordsworth, Sou they, 
and Coleridge, beautifully attested the broth- 
erhood of genius, until the " threefold cord " 
was sundered at the tomb. 

Much of this affectionate, generous sympa- 
thy between gifted minds, seemed to me to 
exist in Great Britain, and though I was there 



156 PAST MERIDIAN. 

too late to witness it in those most genial 
spirits, Sir Walter Scott, and Mrs. Hemans, 
its sweet revealings were manifested by Maria 
Edgeworth, and Joanna Baillie, as well as by 
many younger and distinguished authors, who 
still live to bless us. 

May I be forgiven if I here add a little 
episode to please myself? an interview at 
Hampstead, which Memory cherishes among 
her pencil-sketches. 

It was a brighter vernal day than often 
occurs under English skies, when I drove 
thither from London, to see Joanna Baillie. 
I found her seated on the sofa, in her pleasant 
parlor, surrounded by many pictures, herself 
to me, the most pleasant picture, of dignified 
and healthful age. On her cheek was some- 
what more of color than usual, for she had just 
returned from a long walk among her poor 
pensioners, and the exercise, and the comfort 
of active benevolence, lent new life and ex- 
pression to her smile. She was not hand- 
some, at least, so the world said; her high 



LITERARY LONGEVITY. 157 

cheek bones bespoke her Scottish extraction, 
and seventy-six years had absorbed any 
charm that youth might have bestowed ; yet 
to my eye she v^as beautiful. On the same 
sofa was her sister, Agnes, whom she so 
intensely loved, and to whom one of her 
sweetest poetical effusions was addressed. 
Though several years beyond fourscore, her 
complexion was singularly fair, her features 
symmetrical, and her demeanor graceful 
and attractive. Between them, was seated 
Rogers, the banker-poet, with locks like the 
driven snow, having come out several miles 
from his mansion in St. James' Park, to make 
them a friendly call. His smooth brow, and 
fresh flow of conversation, made it difficult to 
believe that this could be indeed, his eightieth 
spring. It seems he had been kindly advising 
the authoress of " Plays of the Passions," to 
collect her fugitive poems, from their wide- 
spread channels, into the more enduring form 
of a volume. As she felt disincHned to the 

14* 



158 PAST MERIDIAN. 

labor, he had himself undertaken and accom- 
plished it, and was now discussing the suc- 
cess of the publication, and enjoying the high 
suffrages of criticism, as if they were his own. 
While their cheering, joyous tones, so pleas- 
antly blended, and mental communion and 
service seemed to have given them new 
youth, or rather to have kept it perennial, I 
felt that the world could not furnish another 
such trio, and was grateful for the privilege of 
beholding it. 

Even now, I imagine that I hear the voice 
of the venerable poet, whom I still rejoice to 
number among my living friends, repeating 
with deliberate intonation and perfect empha- 
sis, his favorite passage from Mrs. Barbauld, 
who herself resided in the immediate vicinity, 
at Hampstead. It was written in extreme 
old age, but with unfaded vigor of intellect. 

" Life ! we've been long together, 
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather, 
'Tis hard to part where friends are dear, 
Perhaps 'twill cost both pang and tear : 



LITERARY LONGEVITY. 159 

So, steal away, give little warning, 
Choose thine own time, 
Say not good night, but in yon happier clime, 

Bid me good morning." 

Among those who have made the highest 
interests of the soul their study, and by pen 
and voice striven to promote them, are many 
instances of healthful adjustment of structure 
to profession, and the protracted use of those 
powers which they kept in active exercise. 

Thomas a Kempis, whose writings filled 
three folio volumes, and whose principal 
work, " The Imitation of Christ,"" was com- 
posed at the age of sixty, reached his ninety- 
second year, not only with an unimpaired 
mind, but with the perfect use of eye-sight, 
unaided by spectacles. At the same advanced 
period was Bishop Wilson removed, whose 
"Sacra Privata" still breathes like living 
incense on the heart's altar. Scarcely three 
years younger was our own Bishop White, 
the beauty of whose silver locks, and saintly 
smile, and holy teachings, concur in deepen- 



160 PAST MERIDIAN, 

ing the Saviour's precept, that all Christians 
should love each other. John Wesley was 
enabled to persevere in his labors, till eighty- 
eight, having before he reached his seventieth 
year, published more than thirty octavo vol- 
umes. On his seventy-second birth-day, he 
w^rites: 

" I have been considering liow it is, that I should feel 
just the same strength that I did, thirty years ago ; that 
my sight is even considerably better, and my nerves firmer 
than they were then ; that I have none of the infirmities 
of age, and have lost several that I had in my youth. 
The great cause is the good pleasure of God, who doeth 
whatever pleaseth Him. The chief means are, first my 
constant rising at four, for the last fifty years ; second, my 
generally preaching at five in the morning, one of the most 
healthful exercises in the world ; and thirdly, my never 
traveling less, by sea and land, than four thousand miles 
a year." 

Theodore Beza, lived to be eighty-six, and 
Hoadley, eighty-five ; Lardner was a year 
younger at his death, and John Newton, four- 
score and two. Warburton closed his learned 
labors at eighty-one ; and Lowth and Porteus 



LITERARY LONGEVITY. 161 

and Simeon, completed their Christian exam- 
ple at seventy-seven ; and Richard Baxter at 
seventy-six, rose from the ''Saint's Rest/' 
which he so touchingly depicted, to that 
" Certainty of the World of Spirits," which he 
serenely anticipated. Archbishop Seeker, at 
seventy-five, taught how saints can die ; and 
William Jones, of Nayland, and Thomas 
Scott, the commentator, passed from faithful 
service to their great reward, at the age of 
seventy-four ; and Bishop Andrews, the mas- 
ter of fifteen languages, who was appointed 
by James First, one of the principal transla- 
tors of our present version of the Scriptures, 
continued until seventy-one, his untiring toils 
and devoted charities. Beveridge closed his 
pious pilgrimage at seventy ; and George Fox, 
at sixty-six; and John Foster, the forcible 
essayist, at seventy-three. 

Connected with the thoughtful and im- 
pressive image of the last-named author, is 
that of another, seen at about the same period, 
in his native Scotland, and also a minister of 



162 PAST MERIDIAN. 

the Baptist persuasion, — William Innes, of 
Edinburgh. He was then at the age of sev- 
enty, in the habit of varying the toils of the 
pulpit and the study, by a summer excursion 
on foot, to the Highlands, where, being able 
to preach in their native tongue, he collected 
large audiences, w^ho listened to the words of 
salvation with ri vetted attention. From this 
missionary service, the only recreation that 
he sought during a year's strenuous labor, he 
would return with elastic step, a cheering 
smile, and cheek and lip so florid with health 
that it was difficult to believe that he had 
indeed reached so advanced a period. He 
still lives at the age of eighty- three, and leads 
a beloved flock in their Sabbath worship. 

The Rev. William Jay, from the age of 
sixteen, when he began to preach the gospel, 
was enabled to continue until eighty-six, in 
that holy service, laboring, writing or speaking 
for God, and encircled to his last moment with 
loving hearts and the reverence of mankind. 

A still surviving instance of protracted use- 



LITERARY LONGEVITY. 163 

fulness and honor, is that of Dr. Routh, who 
has sustained the office of President of Mag- 
dalen College, Oxford, for sixty-three years, 
and entered about two months since, his 
ninety-ninth year. This learned and vener- 
able man, retains good health, high intellect, 
and warm, social feelings. In his exercise 
of hospitality and benevolence, there is no 
declension; that there is also none in the 
respect and appreciation of the students over 
whom he presides, is expressed in the follow- 
ing brief extract from their affectionate tribute 
on his birth-day, September 20th, 1853. 

"In studious care a century well nigh past, 
Three generations Routh's fresh pcwers outlast ; 
A Nestor's snows his reverend temples grace, 
A Nestor's vigor in his mind we trace. 
Judgment not yet on her tribunal sleeps ; 
Her faithful record cloudless Memory keeps ; 
Nor eye nor hand their ministry decline. 
The letter'd toils or service of the Nine. 
Yet through his heart the genial current flows, 
Yet in his breast the warmth of friendship glows : 
On rites of hospitality intent. 
Toward Christian courtesy his thoughts are bent ; 



164 PAST MERIDIAN. 

While from his hps, which guile nor flattery know, 

" Prophetic strains " of " old experience " flow. 

A blessing rest upon thy sacred head, 

Time-honor'd remnant of " the mighty dead," 

Through whom Oxonia's sons exulting trace 

Their stainless lineage from a better race. 

Still may thy saintly course their beacon shine, 

Still round their heartstrings thy meek wisdom twine. 

Still be their loyal, loving homage thine ; 

And tardy may the heavenward summons come, 

Which calls thee from thy sojourn to thy home." 

It should here be mentioned that he has 
just completed a volume, consisting of selec- 
tions from the ancient fathers, with emenda- 
tions and an introduction, intended as the 
prolongation of an extensive work composed 
some years since, with the title of " Reliquiae 
Sacrae." 

The power of fine writing sometimes re- 
mains unimpaired with the septuagenarians, 
and even to the later evening of life. I think 
at this moment, of two volumes recently 
issued from the press, in which Professor 
SilUman, of Yale College, so long the editor 
of the "American Journal of Science," and 



LITERARY LONGEVITY. 165 

now in his seventy-sixth year, has delineated 
an extensive tour in Europe. Compared with 
another work of his, published nearly half a 
century since, and describing a similar excur- 
sion to foreign climes, they yield nothing of 
grace, brilliance, or vigor, but might seem 
rather to have the advantage over their 
predecessor. Their admixture of science, 
so appropriate to his own^ profession, with 
the drapery of narrative, gives them, as it 
were, bone and muscle, by-which to stand 
erect, and move among the^people. Over 
their author, also, changeful time has had 
little power. He has just returned, unfa- 
tigued, from a journey of some four thousand 
miles, to the Far West, enjoying the varied 
scenery with as keen a zest as ever, and add- 
ing to the happiness of the large party with 
which he traveled; especially entering into 
thq pleasures of the young, with the cheer- 
fulness of an unclouded spirit. 

His fine, manly form is still unbent, his un- 

spectacled eyes daunted by no obscurity of 
15 



166 PAST MERIDIAN. 

type or chirography, and his urbanity and 
hospitality in full exercise. Long may they 
thus continue. 

" The Gospel its own Advocate/' a work 
from the pen of George Griffin, LL. D., of 
New York, after he had numbered more than 
threescore and ten, shows the research of a 
mind disciplined by the severe studies of 
jurisprudence, accustomed to weigh contend- 
ing claims, to throw words into the crucible 
and through all their fermentations w^atch for 
the witnessings of truth. It embodies the 
force of a clear intellect, and the conclusions 
of a long life. The learned author, now in 
his seventy-seventh year, still endued with 
vigor of mind and body, might in his hours 
of literary labor, have readily selected from 
the wide range of nature, or the familiar 
archives of history, a theme more accordant 
with the taste and spirit of the times, but 
rehgiously chose in this, as well as in a pre- 
vious work, to devote the gathered lights of his 



LITERARY LONGEVITY. 167 

experience to the defence and illustration of 
that gospel wherein is our hope. 

The Memoir of the late Rev. Dr. Croswell, 
of Boston, by the venerable Dr. Croswell, of 
New Haven, Connecticut, an octavo of more 
than five hundred pages, is undoubtedly the 
most affecting as well as judicious tribute 
that a man of genius and piety ever received 
from a father of almost fourscore years. 
Girding himself to lay in the grave the 
beloved one, who, according to the order of 
nature, should have closed his own dying 
eyes, instead of sinking under so great a sor- 
row, he rouses himself, and with the same 
zeal and patience with which in his hoary 
age he still ministers at the sanctuary, con- 
structs a monument which will endure when 
brass and marble perish. 

An interesting catalogue might, doubtless, 
be made of authors, who, after the period of 
seventy, or even of eighty years, have contin- 
ued to interest and instruct mankind. Han- 
nah More wrote her work on "Praver," at 



168 PAST MERIDIAN. 

seventy-six; and Richard Cumberland, his 
poem on " Retrospection/' at seventy-nine. 
Dr. Blair, so celebrated for his " Lectures on 
Rhetoric and Belles Lettres," persevered in 
his literary labors until very late in life, and 
was occupied in preparing an additional vol- 
ume of sermons, when death took the pen 
from his hand, in his eighty-second winter. 

At the same advanced age, Walter Savage 
Landor, retains the force and elasticity which 
have always characterized his style, and is at 
present engaged in editing a work entitled, 
" Letters of an American." At his pleasant 
home in Bath, England, he is still in posses- 
sion of health, and of that peculiar wit, which 
in earlier life, irradiated his " Imaginary Con- 
versations," and gave him rank among men 
of genius. 

Still, it is not my purpose here, to make a 
list of those who have continued in age to 
win reputation by their writings, but simply 
through a desultory selection of examples, to 
illustrate a theory sometimes advanced, that 



LITERARY LONGEVITY. 169 

the mind may expand and ripen, to the ex- 
treme of human life. The only reason to the 
contrary, is the disease or decay of those 
organs through which it receives and conveys 
impressions. By the foregoing instances, as 
vv^ell as others that might be adduced, it will 
appear that there is no necessary connection 
between this declension and their diligent use. 
Indeed, through the action of the brain, the 
nervous system may doubtless be so developed 
as to acquire even a more vigorous tone. 

The fever of literary ambition, the rivalry 
of authorship, the morbid and insatiable thirst 
for popularity, are not numbered among the 
sanitary tendencies, or worthy ends of intel- 
lectual effort. Neither of the abuse of God's 
great gift of genius to the gratification of sel- 
fish and depraved tastes, have I wished to 
speak, but rather of its unison with the high- 
est responsibilities, — of its open harmony with 
the perennial flow of the springs of life, — and 
of the long peace with which the Great Task- 
Master hath sometimes seen fit to crown it. 
15* 



170 PAST MERIDIAN. 

If the employment of a teacher has been 
considered favorable to longevity, from the 
cheering influences of companionship with 
the young, on the same principle, an in- 
dwelling with fresh and beautiful thoughts, 
should aid in preserving the youth of the 
mind. If in suggesting good feelings, and a 
holy practice to others, there is any develop- 
ment of sympathies, that makes even strangers 
dear, any solace for joys that are withheld, or 
have departed, it must be congenial to moral, 
as well as to mental and physical prosperity. 

Literature, like those fields of benevolence 
in which all Christians can agree, offers a fair 
meeting-ground of compromise and of peace. 
It has room enough and to spare. Its laborers 
may come and go, as brethren, and not impede 
each other. They may glean in safety, all 
day, like the true-hearted Moabitess, and "at 
night, beat out what they have gathered,^' 
while the world, like the expectant Naomi, 
will bless them. 

We, the people who have past their prime, 



LITERARY LONGEVITY. 171 

should rejoice that so many of our own hoary- 
headed band, have been enabled to leave so 
many enduring traces on the sands of time. 
For if the satisfactions of rural life, the trans- 
muting of the unsightly mould into fruits and 
flowers, are so soothing and salutary, should 
it not be held desirable to plant in the mental 
soil, trees whose '^ leaves are for the healing 
of the nations V If the founders of those 
time-honored edifices, on which the storms of 
ages have beaten in vain, are regarded with 
reverence, is it not a privilege to be permitted 
to rear in the realm of intellect, columns on 
whose Corinthian capital, lingers the smile of 
Heaven as a never-setting sun ? 



CHAPTER XII. 



" Argue not 
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot 
Of heart or hope ; but still bear up, and steer 
Right onward. 

Milton. 

How beautiful is the setting sun. Long 
lines of golden rays tremble along the horizon; 
crimson and purple like the banner of a king, 
go floating up the zenith. As a benefactor 
he retires from the scenes he has blessed, 
and through the calm twilight men tenderly 
remember him. 

Thus should a good life draw to its close, 
fruitful in benefits, and glowing with reflected 
love, until the evening star hangs out its silver 
crescent. Thus should its westering sun- 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 173 

beams be treasured in the grateful hearts 
which have been cheered by its path of 
radiance. 

A selfish old age must be of necessity, 
an unhappy one. It is an indwelling with 
losses ; lost comeliness, lost vigor, lost pleas- 
ure, lost importance among the bright and 
swift current of moving things. The hope- 
less search for what is departed, depresses 
the spirits and prepares them to partake in the 
declension that marks the body. If whatever 
brings the mind into bondage must impair 
its force; the decay of memory, of judgment 
the adjunct to memory, and of self-respect 
which in a measure depends on both, is more 
likely to occur and become palpable among 
aged persons who think principally and per- 
manently of themselves. It is cause for 
thankfulness if through the affections, the 
charities, or the trials of life, they have been 
taught to lower their own expectations from 
a world they are soon to leave. Salutary and 
lovely is God's discipline with those whose 



174 PAST MERIDIAN. 

long pilgrimage is nearly finished ; withdraw- 
ing the props on which they leaned, loosen- 
ing the heartstrings that were too closely or 
proudly earth-bound, that the Soul, ere she 
tries her unfettered wing, may '' spring up 
and take strong hold on Him who made her." 
It is pleasant to recall whatever of brill- 
iance we may have seen gather around the 
western gate of life, and preserve it as a 
guiding light for the feet of others. How 
noble was the bravery with which the poet 
Dryden battled the storms of fortune, lifting 
an unquenched spirit like a torch amid rocks 
and waves. When he might through age 
have naturally wished to relax the pressure 
of literary labor, he was stimulated anew by 
his paternal affections. Just on the verge of 
his seventieth year he was apprised of the 
approaching return of his son from Rome, in 
a feeble state of health; and though he had 
scarcely completed the task of preparing the 
second edition of his translation of Virgil for 
the press, he took no breathing time, but im- 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 175 

mediately contracted to supply a bookseller 
with ten thousand verses, at sixpence a line, 
saying pathetically of his invalid child, " I 
can not spend my life better than in preserv- 
ing his." 

Among the men, who taking in their hand, 
" their lives, their fortunes and their sacred 
honor," gave their signature to the Magna 
Charta of our national freedom, quite a number 
were appointed to length of days, with unfa- 
ded renown. The Hon. WilUam EUery of 
Newport, who from the memorable era of 
1776, continued nine years a member of Con- 
gress, afterward took his seat as chief justice 
of the superior court of Rhode Island. When 
the age of seventy released him from this 
office, he accepted that of collector of cus- 
toms for his native city, affectionately serving 
her to the day of his death, which took place 
at the age of ninety-three. So social and 
agreeable was he, notwithstanding his ad- 
vanced age, and such powers of vivid and 
graphic narration did he continue to possess, 



176 PAST MERIDIAN. 

that the young sought his company for their 
own pleasure. 

It was on the morning of his death, Febru- 
ary 15th, 1820, that his family physician 
called, not professionally, but as a friend, to 
enjoy for half an hour his delightful society. 
In his usual health, he w^as seated in his arm- 
hair, reading Cicero de Officiis. But while 
the tide of conversation flowed freely and 
brightly on, the quick eye of the medical 
man detected a change in his venerated com- 
panion. He was laid upon the bed, but 
resumed reading the page which was interest- 
ing him when his friend entered. Gently 
the pulse ceased its motion, and the uncloud- 
ed mind glided from its tenement of clay. 
Deep humility of spirit was the gift of this 
extraordinary man, and a firmness in duty, 
not influenced by human applause or blame. 
The wheels of life moved more calmly, and 
perhaps longer, from the serene temperament 
of his religion, which under every obstacle 
or misfortune solaced his own soul and that 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 177 

of others with the subKme precept, "The 
Lord reigneth, let the earth rejoice." 

The sunbeams of usefulness have some- 
times lingered to a late period around the 
heads of those who had taken part in the 
pioneer hardships of our new settlements. 
I think now of one, but recently deceased, at 
the age of eighty-five — Judge Burnett, who 
was numbered among the founders of Ohio, 
that state which sprang from its cradle with 
the vigor of a giant. After the completion 
of his classical and legal studies, he exchanged 
his fair ancestral home in New Jersey for a 
residence in Cincinnati, then in its rudest 
stages of development. As he climbed the 
steep river-bank he saw only scattered cabins, 
a few framed buildings and a log fort, making 
the frontier of civilized life. Conforming his 
habits to those of an unrefined community, 
and claiming but a few physical comforts, he 
exercised his profession in the courts of Detroit 
and Vincennes, when traveling was by bridle 
paths, by blazed trees, fording wild streams 
16 



178 PAST MERIDIAN. 

and camping on the wet ground. Educated 
in the school of Washington and of Hamilton, 
who were honored guests in his father's house 
during the forming period of his life, he nobly- 
dispersed around him the wealth of an upright 
and polished mind. By persevering industry 
and moral and religious worth, he won general 
confidence : and in due time a seat in the 
senate of the United States, and upon the 
trench of the supreme court of Ohio, attested 
the respect of the people. Population spread 
around him like the pageantry of a dream, 
and Cincinnati, among whose rudiments his 
manly hand had wrought, echoed ere his 
departure to the rushing tread of 130,000 
inhabitants. His health had been originally 
feeble, but the endurance of hardship, and 
what is still more remarkable, the access of 
years, confirmed it. At more than fourscore 
he moved through the streets with as erect a 
form, an eye as intensely bright, and collo- 
quial powers as free and fascinating, as at 
thirty. When full of knowledge and benev- 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 179 

olence, and with an unimpaired intellect, he 
passed away, it was felt that not only one of 
the fathers of a young land had fallen, but 
that one of the bright and beautiful lights of 
society had been extinguished. 

Of Daniel Webster, it was affirmed that 
the clearness of his own great mind continued 
to increase and to flow forth with even a ful- 
ler radiance at seventy than in his prime. 
Like the reformer Wycliffe, he was more 
and more ^^ intent upon being understood, 
intent upon imparting the conviction or pas- 
sion of his own mind to other minds." With 
this singleness of purpose, and power of truth, 
was also mingled a depth of feeling, scarcely 
indicated by his massive form and majestic 
deportment. "Yet," said an old man of more 
than eighty, who had long intimately known 
him, "he could sympathize with all. Ever 
had he a kindly word for the child, the youth, 
and him of hoary hairs. He could not look 
upon a fair landscape or fields waving with 
grain, without blessing God for permitting 



180 PAST MERIDIAN. 

him to live in a world so teeming with 
beauty." Thus, with the radiance of thought 
and feeling, still glowing in his deep-set eye, 

" Plow well lie fell asleep ! 
Like some grand river widening toward the sea, 
Calmly and grandly, silently and deep. 
Life joined eternity." 

The capacity of the Duke of Wellington 
as a counsellor in all matters of state, a wise 
director of his own large estates, and an 
ornament in society, was as great at eighty- 
five, as during any previous period. His 
bodily activity and powers of endurance were 
also remarkable, though in boyhood his con- 
stitution was pronounced extremely dehcate. 
More than once I have observed with delight 
his arrival at the House of Lords on some 
wintry morning, on horseback, when, throw- 
ing his reins to the single servant who attend- 
ed him, he would proceed with vigorous step, 
and cheek brightened by exposure to the 
keen air, up those long flights of stairs, which 
in the old parliament building, were formida- 
ble to younger feet. 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 181 

One evening he was seized while in his 
place, with sudden illness, like a premonition 
of paralysis. In leaving the house, he chanced 
to drop his hat, and realizing with singular 
clearness of mind that should he stop to 
regain it, the rush of blood through the brain 
might be dangerously quickened, passed on 
without it, holding his head in its usually very 
upright position. One of the peers, noticing 
his departure, anxiously followed and finding 
he had no carriage in attendance, induced him 
to accept his own, and return home. For 
two or three days bulletins were issued from 
Apsley House, to allay the anxiety of the 
people, with whom he was an idol. Then 
again appearing in his accustomed parliament- 
ary seat, he sustained some pending resolu- 
tion with a brief and clear speech, proving that 
indomitable energy and strength of will which 
pervaded even the latest period of his exist- 
ence. 

England is still happy in the protracted 
light shed upon her councils, by heads that 
16* 



182 PAST Mt-RIDIAN. 

wear the silver crown of age. At seventy- 
six, Lord Brougham speaks much and well ; 
Lords Lansdowne and Aberdeen at threescore 
and ten, are eminent ministers of state ; and 
Lord Lyndhurst, the son of our own artist 
Copley, is in his eighty-second year, hale and 
vigorous, able to take an active part in the 
discussion of the most intricate public affairs, 
and ranked by good judges among the great- 
est of living orators. 

Born in the same year with Lord Lynd- 
hurst, and in the same fair city of Boston, 
the Hon. Josiah Quincy still exhibits unbroken 
powers of mind and body. The pen retains 
its force that traced in early life the memorial 
of his illustrious father, and afterward gave 
to our country, beside other valued works, a 
history in two volumes of her most ancient 
seat of learning. Harvard University, over 
which he had himself presided with honor 
for more than sixteen years. The fervid 
eloquence which on the floor of Congress, as 
well as on so many civic occasions, cast forth 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 183 

its bold metaphors and coruscations of wit, 
is not yet extinguished. It is probably an 
unprecedented fact that at the age of more 
than fourscore, he^^should have been urged to 
accept a nomination to the mayoralty of his 
native city, an office which he had held thirty 
years before ; leaving at his retirement indeli- 
ble marks of his taste and efficiency in the 
financial prosperity, the humane institutions, 
the noble enterprises and elegant structures 
of this Athens of New England. 

I had the privilege of seeing him the past 
summer, at his delightful country residence 
in Quincy, superintending the minute and 
perfectly balanced policies of his rural domain, 
and entertaining his guests with that fine 
blending of hilarity and dignity peculiar to 
the true gentlemen of the old school. It was 
a pleasure to look at his erect form, healthful 
complexion, and w hat is still more remarkable 
in our changeful climate, an entire set of 
white teeth which the art of the dentist had 
never interpolated. Surrounded by the sweet- 



184 PAST MERIDIAN. 

est filial affections, the man whom Everett 
had pronounced the " ornament of the forum, 
the senate and the academy/' gracefully 
exchanged the pursuits of Cicero for those 
of Cincinnatus. 

Residing at the same time of which I have 
spoken, on his fair estate at Brookline, in the 
vicinity of Boston, but since transferred to a 
higher state of existence, was Col. Thomas 
H. Perkins, in his ninetieth year. It was a 
source of exulting pleasure, while abroad, to 
see him arrive in London, with unalloyed 
spirits, an energetic and excellent traveler, 
both by sea and land, though then on the con- 
fines of fourscore. The voyage, from which 
so many young persons shrink, was to him no 
obstacle; indeed, he afterward repeated it, 
enjoying the changeful and boisterous scenery 
of ocean, as when in his prime. 

His munificence, with its living rays, bright- 
ened until life's sunset. His sympathies for 
the sightless had been expressed by such 
'large bounties, among others, the gift of a 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 185 

mansion, valued at forty thousand dollars, that 
the institute for their instruction was incor- 
porated by the name of the "Perkins Asylum 
for the Blind." Truly was it said of him by 
Mr. Stevenson, at an assemblage of the mer- 
chants of Boston, whose profession he had so 
honorably represented throughout a long life : 
" Literature, science and art, each received 
his homage and his sacrifices; but his chosen 
altar was in the temple of charity. No story 
of distress fell upon his ear, without making 
his manly heart throb to the overflow of tears. 
It was not weakness, but greatness in him. 
Those tears were the mingled offspring of 
sorrow and of joy ; sorrow for suffering, and 
joy that he could do something to alleviate it. 

"'His full heart kept his full hand open.'" 

A touching scene occurred in Fanueil Hall, 
the year previous to his death. Daniel Web- 
ster, speaking thei^e with fervid eloquence, of 
the liberal aid that had been rendered to the 
cause of education, morality, w^ant and woe. 



186 PAST MERIDIAN. 

by the affluence of Boston, alluded personally 
to the venerable Colonel Perkins, then seated 
near him on the platform. 

"Will he rise at my request/' he exclaimed, 
" and show his benevolent countenance to the 
people ?'' 

He who had been of old distinguished by 
a lofty form and kingly beauty, stood up in 
the feebleness of hoary time. Three cheers, 
into which the heart of grateful thousands 
were merged, rent the concave. And yet 
three more followed. 

Then the great orator said with trembling 
lip: 

" God bless him ! He is an honor to his 
city, an honor to his state, an honor to his 
country. His memory will be perfumed by 
his benevolent actions, and go down a sweet 
odor to our children's children." 

Still traversing the streets of Boston, in his 
eighty-third year, regardless of winter's cold, 
or summer's heat, may be seen the venerable 
missionary, the Rev. Charles Cleveland, intent 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 187 

on deeds of mercy. The orphan, so often 
overlooked in the world's great strife, the 
suffering widow, the poor emigrant, with his 
sick stranger-heart, hear, approaching their 
desolate attic, or dark, damp cellar, a tireless 
foot, and are cheered by the blessed smile of 
one who like the aged apostle John, has con- 
centrated all duty in the precept to " love one 
another." In a school for infants, under the 
superintendence of his wife, he manifests 
continual interest, and by affectionate de- 
portment, and kind counsel to all, without 
distinction of sect, shows the perpetual play 
of those hallowed sunbeams that repel the 
depression of age, and herald an unclouded 
day. 

In the department of editorial labor, whose 
unresting, keen-eyed research, is rewarded in 
our age and country, by such immense influ- 
ence over public opinion, there have been in- 
stances of the long and prosperous endurance 
t)f the severe tax it imposes, both on mind 
.ind body. Among these, the Hon. Theodore 



188 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Dwight, was eminently distinguished. A na- 
tive of Massacliusetts, he resided the greater 
part of his Kfe in Connecticut and New York, 
and conducted in both of the last-named 
states, different weekly periodicals, for the 
space of half a century. He also stood a faith- 
ful sentinel at that unslumbering post, the 
head of a daily newspaper in the city of New 
York, of extensive circulation. His fine liter- 
ary taste did not confine itself to editorial 
articles, but in consecutive works, as well as 
on the floor of Congress, he was appreciated 
by his countrymen. Age did not dim his 
intellect, or his remarkable colloquial powers. 
He continued to write with the same rapidity 
and acuteness that had marked his early 
prime, the messenger often taking the pages 
wet with ink to the waiting press. Well do 
I remember the radiance of his expressive 
black eye, when those coruscations of wit 
kindled, which eighty-two winters had not 
quelled, or when the smile of earnest friend- 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 189 

ship, or hallowed affection, lighted up a face 
beautiful to the last. 

We sometimes see in every grade and pro- 
fession, instances of protracted usefulness, 
mingling with that hopeful, cheerful temper- 
ament, which is supposed to appertain to the 
earlier periods of life. This is illustrated in 
the following passages from one of those let- 
ters with which Grant Thorburn, the octoge- 
narian florist, occasionally interests the public, 
through the medium of our various period- 
icals. 

"New York, February 18, 1854. 

" This day I enter on my eighty-second year ; my health 
as good, my appetite as good, I relish my food as well, and 
I sleep as well, as when in my thirtieth year ; and for this, 
I thanh the Giver of all Good. The sceptic may sneer 
and the fool may laugh, it is but the crackling of thorns 
under a pot. You may call this egotism, or any ism that 
you please, but I think that ingratitude is worse than the 
sin of witchcraft. 'What shall I render to the Lord for 
all his benefits ? ' 

" For the last sixty years, I have been only one day 
confined to my dwelling by sickness. Seventeen of these 
17 



190 PAST MERIDIAN. 

summers were spent in the city, when yellow fever, like a 
Turkish plague, made our streets desolate, and strong men 
dropped like grass beneath the scythe of the mower. The 
doctors of law, physic and divinity, the board of health, 
the mayor and the ancient men of the city, all affirmed that 
the fever was contagious. If so, I have a higher Power 
than Chance to thank for the preservation of myself and 
family — for neither my wife, myself, nor any of my thir- 
teen children, were ever affected by this fatal disease. 
The exemption was the more remarkable, as I spent much 
of my time in the chambers of death and at the sick-bed of 
the dying. 

"In the dreadful fever of 1798, from the 15th to the 
22d of September, I had seven patients. They lay in 
three different wards near half a mile apart. I traveled 
day and night, from one house to another, they having 
none to give them a cup of cold water, myself excepted. 
Four of them died ; three recovered ; thousands died 
alone. 

" I will narrate in eighty minutes my journey of twice 
forty years thi'ough the wilderness of this world. Many, 
and full of good have been the days of my pilgrimage. 
When I left Scotland in April, 1794, I was in my twenty- 
second year. The amount of my education was to read 
the Bible and write my own name. Previous to this, I 
had never been twenty miles from the house wherein I 



AVESTERING SUNBEAMS. 191 

was born, and, with regard to men and their manners, I 
was as ignorant as a babe. 

" The fii'st night I slept on shore in America, was on 
the 17th of June, in an open garret, with my head within 
eighteen inches of the shingle roof, my ship's matrass 
spread on the floor. The night was hot. A thunder 
storm arose at midnight — the rain descended — the floods 
beat on that frail roof, and great was the terror of my 
heart. The lightning flashed — the thunder rolled ; I had 
never seen or heard the like in Scotland, and I wished 
myself at hame again. Sleep fled from mine eyes, and 
slumber from my eyelids. I rose at daybreak — head- 
ache, heart-ache — and my spirits sunk down to my heels. 
Being a stranger, I was loth to disturb the family by going 
forth so early ; to amuse two listless ^hours, I opened my 
case of books to spread them on the floor ; as they had 
been fourteen weeks in the hold of the vessel, I feared 
they were mildewed. On the top, lay a small pocket 
Bible; it was placed there by the hands of my pious 
father. I opened the book. 'My son,' met my eye. For 
a moment, I thought my father spoke. I read to the end 
of the chapter — it was the third of Proverbs. It is near 
sixty years since that morning, but, at every cross-road, 
when not knowing whither to turn, to the right hand or 
the left, on referring to this chapter, I found written, ' This 
is the way, walk ye in it.' 

v^ yk ^ ^ yk 



192 PAST MERIDIAN. 

" Whether I shall see another birth-day, or whether I 
shall see another Sabbath, it matters not. I know He will 
keep what I have committed to his charge." 

It would be well if cheering social inter- 
course were more cultivated among those 
who share in the sympathies of many years. 
A lady of ninety-three, in one of the villages 
of Massachusetts, lately entertained at her 
tea-table, a party of seven friends of both 
sexes, whose ages ranged from seventy to 
eighty-six. True satisfaction and a decorous 
hilarity marked the festival. Much had they 
to say, for their united experience covered 
an area of six hundred and fifty years. Rural 
employments had probably contributed to 
preserve their health ; for all were dwellers 
upon their own farms, within the vicinity of 
a square mile, so that neighborly intimacy 
gave a zest to their intercourse, and no win- 
ter of age had been allowed to obstruct the 
avenues of friendship. 

It is desirable that the lambent light of 
happiness should beam from the countenance 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 



193 



and life of those who have long set a good 
example, thus making virtue attractive, and 
dispelling the dread v^iiich the young feel of 
becoming old. 

Is not the parting sun beautiful in a wintry 
landscape ? The pure snow-hillocks wear 
a faint rose-crown, and the trees glitter in 
their frost-work drapery, as if for a birth-night. 

Does any one ask how this " house of our 
pilgrimage " may be illumined, when shadows 
steal around, and perchance, those that " look 
out of the windows are darkened ? " Are 
there not some dwellings which are lighted 
from above ? We would fain have a sky- 
light that shall not fail us ; one that we can 
look up to, and be glad. We are not satisfied 
with a cold lustre in Memory's halls, or with 
a solitary star-beam. 

Can we not have a fire on the hearth, when 

winter gathers around us? Yes, we will 

keep love in our hearts, w hile they beat, that 

there may be warmth, as well as radiance. 

Thus, may our day of life draw toward its 
17* 



194 PAST MERIDIAN. 

close. At "evening-time may it be light." 
In thy light, O Father of our spirits, may we 
see light ; that walking in love here below, 
we may come at last, in thy good time, to that 
glorious world, where there is no more night, 
and where the sunbeam of love is eternal. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



Ye who hold 
Proud tenantry in earth, and call your lands 
By your own names, and lock your coffer'd gold 
From him who for a bleeding Saviour's sake 
Doth ask a part, — whose shall those treasures be, 
When like the grass-blade smit by autumn-frost, 
Ye fall away ? 

It is a mournful thought that men should 
become more attached to earthly possessions 
when about to leave them, or grasp them with 
so great intensity that the final separation 
must be forcible and afflictive. 

But is this statement true ? Do such cases 
often occur ? If so, are there no remedies ? 

As we are creatures of habit, adhesive- 
ness undoubtedly gathers strength from time. 



196 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Since what we have been accustomed to do, 
or to see, becomes unconsciously interwoven 
with our existence, so what we have been 
accustomed to have and to hold, may grow 
closer to our hearts as life recedes, causing 
those who in youth were merely prudent, to 
be at last, the victims of avarice. Still, the 
extreme of this passion is not often witnessed, 
inasmuch as a miser is a marked creature, 
held up for observation and comment, both 
in passing life and in history. 

All the subtle talents of Mazarin, were not 
able to gild his rapacity, or hide it from the 
contempt of coming ages. The solemn warn- 
ing of his confessor, that to purchase peace of 
conscience, he must make restitution of unjust 
gains, failed to overcome his insatiable habit 
of hoarding. The frank assurance of his phy- 
sician, that though but just upon the verge of 
sixty, the revolution of two brief moons, was 
the utmost limit of his days, embittered with 
terror both his waking and sleeping moments. 
Then, his two hundred millions of livres 



ABOUT MONEY. 197 

passed before him, in review, each one as dear 
as ever. To enrich his relatives, the haughty 
family of Mancini, wrs probably an excuse 
made by the wily cardinal, for his unquelled 
avarice, but the root was in the love of it. 
Some rare gems, and singularly precious treas- 
ures, were placed in bags beneath his pillow. 
After struggles of deadly anguish, which in- 
creasing disease induced, he stretched his 
weak, emaciated hands to feel if they were 
still there. The fearful Spoiler, drawing 
every hour more near, he might have apos- 
trophized in the words ascribed to one of 
England's great and unhappy statesmen. 

"If thou be'est death, I'll give a nation's treasure, 
Enough to purchase such another island. 
So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain." 

Other extreme cases might be cited, but 
this is not our object. It is rather to recom- 
mend such antidotes as are the most obvious, 
if we admit that avarice is a disease indige- 
nous to life in its decline. 

The first prescription would be, pay all 



198 PAST MERIDIAN. 

debts. There is religion in it. If we are 
using, or have the name of possessing any- 
thing for which the owner has not been fully 
remunerated, let us lose no time in rendering 
adequate compensation. It is better at all 
times to do without what we cannot justly 
afford to purchase, than avail ourselves of what 
literally belongs to another : and the weight 
of undischarged obligation, grows heavier as 
we draw nearer our own final account. It 
is at all times a clog to the free spirit, a yoke 
that bows down independence of thought and 
purpose. "Poverty without debt is inde- 
pendence," says an Arabian proverb. The 
blessed Founder of our faith, to his command 
to " render to all their dues," added the force 
of his own example, in the payment of tribute 
to the Roman ruler. An old author has 
quaintly remarked, " Even w^hen Christ bor- 
rowed Peter's boat to preach a sermon out 
of, he paid him for the same with a great 
draught of fishes." The wise monarch of 
Israel attaches the epithet of wickedness to 



ABOUT MONEY. 199 

that too common forgetfulness of equity, " bor- 
rowing and paying not again." The spirit of 
acquisitiveness is a temptation to vice. It 
confuses the simple principles of right and 
wrong. The fearful frauds that mark modern 
days, and our own country, bid us to strength- 
en every foundation of equity, and beware of 
the spirit of 

" These feverish times, 
That putting the how-much hefore the Jioiv, 
Cry like the daughters of the horse-leech, give," 

How forcible were the words of the elo- 
quent Patrick Henry, on his death-bed, to his 
children, " If I could will to give you the 
Christian religion, how gladly would I do so ; 
for with this, and without any earthly posses- 
sion, you would be infinitely rich : without it, 
though with all else that the heart can wish, 
you would be miserably poor." 

The apostolic injunction, " Owe no man 
anything, except to love one another," gath- 
ers strength and significance, with every 
added year. The luxury of giving, cannot 



2G0 PAST MERIDIAN. 

be fairly enjoyed, while debts remain unliqui- 
dated. " Be just before you are generous/' 
is a precept as admirable for its innate truth, 
as for its garb of simplicity. Punctual and 
cheerful payment of wages to the laborer is 
a form of benevolence. To withhold hard- 
earned dues, or to render them churlishly, is 
anti-christian. A philanthropist, who in his 
business employed many operatives, was in 
the habit of paying them all at stated periods, 
and of adding, if possible, some kind word of 
counsel, saying it was a " good time to sow a 
good seed, when there was a sunbeam to 
quicken it.'' 

Repress the spirit of accumulation. This 
has been said to increase with years. Yet 
the faculties which it calls into exercise are 
adverse to the tranquilKty which is usually 
coveted in life's decline. Its progress must, 
therefore, be traced to the force of a habit, 
against which reason remonstrates. 

The fever of speculation, the eagerness of 
gain, the disappointment of loss, all the in- 



ABOUT MONEY. 201 

tense gradations from exultation to despair, 
are inapposite and hurtful to a being who 
cannot long partake that for which he barters 
so much; and whose wisdom is rather to 
seek wealth in the country where he is 
about to dwell. The value of every species 
of property depends upon the period in which 
it may be rendered available, or upon its 
probability of continuance. A bond about to 
expire, a house ready to fall, an estate which 
the mortgagee might at any moment claim, 
would not be coveted as investments by the 
prudent. To the aged all earth's possessions, 
being deficient in the article of time, which is 
the breath of their nostrils, are far less worthy 
of fervent search, than when in early prime, 
they were encouraged by hope to associate 
them with a long term of years. Such med- 
itations, probably, induced a man of laborious 
and successful acquisition to say, "I will add 
no more to my capital hereafter ; and the 
surplus of all my income shall be the Lord's.'' 

Cultivate the habit of giving. This great 
18 



202 PAST MERIDIAN. 

pleasure may have been reserved for later 
years as a compensation for those enjoyments 
which time has taken away. The aged, by 
their position, are peculiarly solicited to make 
trial whether it is not better to give than to 
receive. 

There is force in that quaint epitaph, 

" What I saved I lost, 
What I spent I had, 
What I gave I kept." 

"I think I am rich enough,^' said Pope, 
after his writings became productive, "to 
give away one hundred pounds a year. I 
would not crawl upon the earth without 
doing a little good. I will enjoy the pleasure 
of giving what I have to give by doing it 
while I am alive, and seeing others enjoy it. 
I should be ashamed to leave enough for a 
monument if there was a friend in want 
above ground." 

Many examples might be cited were time 
and space mine, where similar resolutions 



ABOUT MONEY. 203 

have been adopted as the motto and guide of 
life, until the spirit blessing all whom it met 
was wafted by gratitude below, to songs of 
melody above. Such an one has been just? 
removed from among us. Anson G. Phelps, 
Esq., of New York, who by his own unaided 
industry, became the possessor of a large 
fortune, through untiring deeds of philan- 
thropy kept his heart tender and open to 
the wants and woes of mankind. Time, 
money and sympathy were with him ever 
ready for the claims of beneficence, whether 
large or small. To the Being who had pros- 
pered his labors, he thus considered himself 
accountable, and this conscientious discharge 
of duty was blessed as one of his highest joys. 
Until more than threescore and ten years had 
passed over him, he attended with undimin- 
ished judgment to the concerns of a great 
commercial establishment, and the interests 
of many associated and individual forms of 
benevolence. Amid the sufferings and lan- 
guor of decline his mind peacefully resting 



204 PAST MERIDIAN. 

upon that God whom from youth he had 
served, still occupied itself in plans of liber- 
ality. Within two or three days of his death, 
while arranging for a donation of several 
thousand dollars to some religious design, 
a beloved one expressed fear that it might 
too much tax his feeble strength and proposed 
that it should be left to the care of others, 
but he replied, " My business has long been 
to save that I might give, and I wish to con- 
tinue it while life lasts." More than half a 
million is dedicated in his will to the chari- 
ties which he had long patronized, and beside 
other bequests to his twenty-two grandchild- 
ren, was the sum of $5000 for each, the 
interest of which was to be annually devoted 
to deeds of religious bounty. Thus did he 
seek, even when he should be numbered 
with the dead, to lead his descendants in 
those paths of Christian charity which he had 
loved. Among the objects of philanthropy 
in his own city, the Asylum for the Blind had 
shared largely in his bounties and sympathies. 



ABOUT MONEY. 205 

Its inmates, at his frequent visits, gathered 
around him to take his hand as that of a 
father. Their thrilling and tuneful voices 
poured forth the tearful melody of a hymn at 
his thronged funeral obsequies. 

" How those blind children will miss him ! " 
said the clergyman in his address, at the 
church where for many years he had worship- 
ed. " They never saw his benignant face, but 
they well knew the kind voice of their ben- 
efactor. How do all the blessed affections of 
humanity, how do all the sacred hopes of 
religion, delight to hover over a good man's 
grave." 

Another counsel which we venture to give, 
is to superintend personally, as far as possible, 
such plans of benevolence as are approved 
and adopted. This is true economy. We 
best understand our own designs. It may 
not always be feasible, perfectly to incorporate 
them with the mind of another. " He who 
uses the ministry of many agents, says a pro- 
19* 



206 PAST MERIDIAN. 

found moralist, may be by some of them 
misunderstood and by others deceived/' 

Why should we not enjoy the pleasure of 
dispensing our- own gifts ? " Come, please to 
give us something/' said a shrewd nurse to 
an invalid and rather parsimonious old lady ; 
" give us all something now and see us look 
pleasant while you are alive." There was 
philosophy here as well as policy. 

Illustrations of this position are so numer- 
ous that it is embarrassing and almost invid- 
ious to select. 

The late Hon. Samuel Apple ton, of Boston, 
who lived to almost the verge of ninety, was 
distinguished by the practical efficiency of 
charity. The exercise of a clear judgment 
kept pace with his persevering liberality. 
In carrying out such designs as he decided to 
adopt, the amount of his benevolence often 
exceeded $25,000 annually. So long did he 
pursue this blessed husbandry, that he was 
enabled to see ripening fruits from the germs 
he had planted in the sterile soil of poverty 
and ignorance. 



ABOUT MONEY. 207 

It is pleasant to observe how his discrimi- 
nating and unimpaired mind simply and sen- 
tentiously expressed itself, in presenting a 
donation of ten thousand dollars to a venera- 
ted scholastic institution. 

" It affords me much pleasure to have it in my power 
to do something for the only College in my native State, 
which has done so much to establish a sound literary 
character in the country. 

" Dartmouth has done her full proportion in educating 
for the pulpit, the bar, the healing art, and the senate, 
good and great men, w^ho have done honor to their names, 
to the College, and the Country. 

"May New Hampshire long continue to send forth from 
her literary emporium, men who will dispense among their 
fellows, religion, law, and the other arts and sciences, in 
simplicity, purity, and truth." 

Though few have the amount of wealth to 
dispense, which fell to the lot of this un- 
wearied philanthropist, yet the zeal which 
determined as far as possible, to be its own 
executor, is imitable. Those who trust to 
others, even during life, are not sure of having 



208 PAST MERIDIAN. 

their plans executed. Much less can this be 
expected when they are dead. Agents may 
fail or betray. They may be absorbed with 
their own business and ours be delayed or 
forgotten. A large portion of testamentary 
charities perhaps never reach the most avail- 
able points of the object which their donors 
contemplated. 

The forms of benevolence change. Those 
objects which twenty years since were 
prominent, are now in a measure obsolete, 
or superseded by others. If we have selected 
one which seems fitting and feasible, let us 
see to it ourselves. Our heirs will . probably 
have concerns enough of their own, and not 
care to be burdened with ours also. 

Methinks I hear a murmured rejoinder, 
" there are various forms of charity I should 
like to patronize, but I must save for my 
children, and I have poor relations." 

These are the key-tones which covetous- 
ness has struck for ages, and with such force 
as often to bewilder itself There is in them 



ABOUT MONEY. 209 

a semblance of justice and of conscience, 
while the root is at best a concealed selfish- 
ness. The hoarding for descendants, which 
at first view seems paternal and amiable, may- 
be hurtful to those whose benefit it contem- 
plates. The expectation of wealth may par- 
alyze their industry. Its possession may check 
their sympathies, perhaps endanger their 
souls. If we adopt the charity that begins 
at home, let us see that it does not become 
bed-ridden and die at home. For wherever 
there is one of God's family who is in sorrow, 
or ignorance, or needs bread or a garment, 
or is sick, or in prison to vice or despair, let 
the same be to us as our "brother and sister 
and mother." 

The possession of property involves an 
obligation of stewardship, both to the Giver 
and to our fellow-creatures ; an obligation 
which receding life renders more imperative 
and sacred. We would not stand before our 
Judge with rust upon our souls, derived from 
the gold that perishes. Of its unrighteous 



210 PAST MERIDIAK. 

gathering, its unjust detention, or unkind 
denial to any in the hour of need, we would 
be guiltless in the dread day of account. 

I have somewhere seen four homely rules 
which comprise true wisdom, and whose 
observance would prevent much remorse : 

"1. Do all the good you can; 

2. In all the ways you can ; 

3. To all the people you can ; 

4. Just as long as you can." 

There are some who in their desires to do 
good are discouraged if they must operate on 
a small scale, or be bounded by a narrow 
circle. They erroneously associate large ben- 
efactions, with the pure element of benev- 
olence. Such persons may be consoled by 
Mahomet^s explanation of good deeds to our 
race. His definition embraced the wide 
circle of all possible kindness. Every good 
act he would say is charity. Your smiling 
in your brother's face is charity ; an exhorta- 
tion of your fellow-man to virtuous deeds is 
equal to alms-giving, your putting a wanderer 



ABOUT MONEY. 211 

in the right road is charity ; your assisting the 
blind is charity; your removing stones, and 
thorns, and other obstructions, from the road, 
is charity ; your giving water to the thirsty 
is charity. A man's true wealth hereafter is 
the good he does in this world to his fellow- 
man. When he dies, people will say, " what 
property has he left behind him ? " But the 
angels will ask, "what good deeds has he 
sent before him?" 

And now, if any of us who have together 
mused on this subject, realize that the time 
is short, let us the more strenuously fulfill 
deferred resolutions and undischarged duties. 
Let us pay what we owe, and break the 
slavery of money getting, and study the 
science of charity in the love of it, and learn 
the joy of being our own almoners. For to 
all, whether young or old, who are still seek- 
ing the good things of this transitory state, 
the warning of an ancient writer is appropri- 
ate : 

" Build your nest upon no tree here, for 



212 PAST MERIDIAN. 

God hath sold the whole forest unto Death; 
and every tree whereupon we would rest is 
ready to be cut down. Therefore, let us flee, 
and mount up, and make our abode among 
the cliffs, and dwell in the sides of the Great 
Everlasting Rock.'^ 



CHAPTER XIV. 



€\t %mnntxn. 



" He prayeth best, who loveth best." 

Coleridge. 

It is sometimes the case, that good and 
kind-hearted people, imbibe on certain points, 
a rigidity of opinion, or an undue expectation 
of conformity, which is both disagreeable and 
inexpedient. It is a kind of despotism, against 
which enlightened intellect revolts. I am 
not ignorant that it has been numbered among 
the tendencies of age, though I have never 
observed it to be exclusively confined to that 
period. On the contrary, I have seen and 
admired in many old persons, an increase of 
candor, a reluctance to condemn, and a miti- 
gation of all austerity, like the mellowing of 
19 • 



214 PAST MERIDIAN. 

rich fruit, ripe for the harvest. Those amia- 
ble friends seemed to have taken the advice 
of the clear-minded and benevolent Franklin, 
not to tarry in the basement rooms of the 
Christian edifice, but to make haste and get 
into the upper chamber, w^hich is vrarm with 
the sunhght of charity. 

While we concede liberty of judgment to 
others, we should use courtesy in the expres- 
sion of our own. It is both fitting and wise, 
that dissenting opinions should be wrapped in 
gentle speech. Were it always so, much of 
the bitterness of strife would evaporate, and 
controversies lulled into harmony, make only 
a stronger music to the ear of humanity. 

If dogmatism has been considered a con- 
comitant of age, in former times, it would 
surely be well to dismiss it in our own. The 
world itself has so changed its aspects, capaci- 
ties and modes of action, during the last half 
century, that many of the conclusions which 
then seemed rational and well-established, 
must now be either reconsidered, or counted 



THE AMENITIES. 215 

obsolete. Then, she was in a manner home- 
bred, and when she went abroad, it was 
comparatively with the pace of a tortoise. 
She sate in the evening, by the light of a 
tallow-candle, and read standard old books, 
and remembered what was in them, and who 
wrote them. 

Now, she is in haste, and can admit but 
few lasting impressions. She rides on the 
steam, and talks by lightning. She reveals 
new agencies that bewilder her children, and 
astonish herself. Like the mystic form in 
the Apocalypse, she "is clothed with the sun, 
and hath the moon under her feet." Her 
" stones are the place of sapphires, and she 
hath dust of gold.'^ 

So many new elements, or unknown com- 
binations, have been, or are being discovered, 
in this our planet, that a common, old-fash- 
ioned person could scarcely be more at a 
loss, on the ring of Saturn, or among the 
belts of Jupiter. It is no wonder that those 
who founded conclusions on ancient premises, 



216 PASTMERIDIAN. 

should be at fault, where there is no prece- 
dent. The great principles of right and 
wrong, must, indeed, ever remain the same ; 
but the rapid movement, and transmutation 
of passing objects, confuse the old modes of 
reasoning. 

We, therefore, of the ancient regime, should 
forbear strongly to press preconceived opin- 
ions, and should form new ones with peculiar 
modesty. For we are not certain of what we 
once supposed we well understood, and must 
solace ourselves with the assertion of Bacon, 
that " he is the wisest man, who is the most 
susceptible of alteration." Still, we will not 
embark on a sea of doubt, but regard with 
leniency our fellow-voyagers, as they steer 
their various courses, over time's troubled 
billows, — as we hope, toward the same great 
haven of rest. 

These amenities mingling with our religious 
belief, should repel bigotry. That we should 
be attached to the form of faith that has long 
sustained and solaced us, is natural and com- 



THE AMENITIES. 217 

mendable. But if there has been ever a 
period in which we were inclined to think 
that " we alone were the people, and wisdom 
must die with us/' it is time to dismiss the 
assumption. For among the many good les- 
sons that age has taught us, should be tolera- 
tion and humility. Through much discipline 
and many sorrows, it instructs us that true 
religion is not a wall to shut out our fellow- 
beings, nor a balance in which to weigh grains 
of doctrine, nor a rack, on which to stretch 
varying opinions, nor a javelin to launch at 
diiferent complexions of faith, but ^^ peace, 
and love, and good-will to men." It should 
have enabled us to make progress in the 
last and highest grace, benignant and saintly 
charity. 

Faith has been our teacher, ever since we 
first lisped, with childish utterance, " in the 
beginning was the Word, and the Word was 
with God, and the Word was God." Hope, 
as far as she draws nutriment from earth, can 

have little more for the aged, either in vision 
19* 



218 PAST MERIDIAN. 

or fruition. But Charity /our last, most patient 
teacher, will ever find some beautiful precept, 
some holy exercise, till " this mortal shall put 
on immortality." 

Yet though age should soften all hostilities 
of opinion, as the setting sun softens the land- 
scape, there are occasionally some minds of 
antagonistic character, whose controversial 
tastes gather strength. With them, the 
beatitude w^hich the gospel promises to peace- 
makers, is overshadowed by the ambition of 
controlling the opinions of others. Such ideas 
harmonize rather with the policy of an Israel- 
itish usurper, than of the meek and lowly 
Redeemer. " Is it peace, Jehu ? What hast 
thou to do with peace? Turn thee, behind 
me'' 

But how often is the disposition and power 
of guiding others, associated with the most 
eminent liberality and love. Hear the noble 
suffrage of John Wesley, when advanced years 
had fully instructed his large mind and heart. 

"My soul loathes the frothy food of con- 



THE AMENITIES. 219 

tending opinions. Give me solid, substantial 
religion. Give me a humble lover of God, 
and of man, full of mercy and good fruits, 
laying himself out in works of faith, in the 
patience of hope, and the labor of love. My 
soul shall be with such Christians, whereso- 
ever they are, and whatsoever doctrines they 
may hold." 

"There is no way," says the venerable 
Bishop White, " in which the ministerial 
office may be more useful than in raising the 
harmonizing voice of religion, to allay the 
jealousies and resentments that result from 
the interfering opinions and interests of men 
in civil life. But, does it appear, that from 
the infancy of Christendom to the present 
day, this blessed work has been promoted 
by ecclesiastical politicians ? Have they not 
been rather the fomenters of strife ? No 
wonder; because either the lust of power, or 
the spirit of faction, drove them into tempta- 
tion." 

"Men who think, will differ,'' writes the 



220 PAST MERIDIAN. 

learned Dr. Priestly, "but true Christians 
will ever be candid." 

"I do not wish/' said Rowland Hill, with 
his characteristic pleasantry, "the walls of 
separation between different orders of Chris- 
tians destroyed, but only a little lowered, that 
we may shake hands over them." 

" The nearer we approximate to universal 
love," said the large-minded, large-hearted 
Robert Hall, " the higher we ascend in the 
scale of Christian excellence." 

We blame the folly of the Egyptian Queen, 
yet overlook their greater madness, who dis- 
solve in the sharp acid of contention, the 
priceless pearl of charity, the soul's chief 
wealth, and venture to stand in their reckless 
poverty before a Judge who requireth love, 
and the deeds of love, as a test of loyalty, and 
a shield from wrath. In His dread presence, 
we must all appear, and appeal only as sin- 
ners, having " left undone the things that we 
ought to have done, and done the things that 
we ought not to have done." From this 



THE AMENITIES. 221 

parity of condition should spring brotherhood 
of feeling. Hand in hand let us kneel before 
the throne of the Pardoner. 

A simple, significant incident was once re- 
lated, in the discourse of a Scottish divine. 

Two cottagers, dwelling under the same 
roof, became alienated. It so happened that 
both were employed at the same time in 
thatching their tenement. Each heard the 
sound of the other's hammer, and saw the 
progress of his work, yet took no friendly 
notice. 

But at length, as they approached nearer, 
they looked in each other's face and chanced 
to smile. That smile w^as a messenger from 
heaven. With it, came the thought how 
much better it would be for those who dwell 
under one roof, to be at peace in their hearts. 

Then they shook hands. They said, ''Let 
us he friends'' and a new, great happiness 
became theirs. 

Are we not, all of us, dwellers under God's 
roof, and as Christians engaged in the same 



22Z 



PAST MERIDIAN. 



work ? Is not the silent lapse of years bring- 
ing us nearer and nearer toward each other ? 
Let us then press on in love, until by His 
grace, our thatching well done, we meet on 
the top at last, and mingle in with the joy of 
angels. 



CHAPTER XV. 



€\t ^U^uxn of ®iiit^r. 

" And when the tinting of the Autumn leaves 
Had faded from its glory, — we have sat 
By the good fires of winter, and rejoiced 
Over the fulness of the gathered sheaf." 

Willis. 

What a singular subject ! The pleasures of 
winter. And what may they be ? Some, 
with whom the imagery of frost and snow 
predominates, will be ready to say that it 
has none. 

Surely it has been the most ill-treated 
season, decried by almost every one that 
could wield a pen or w^eave a couplet. The 
poets have been in league against it from 
time immemorial. Still it has some very 
respectable, shall I say desirable characteris- 



224 PAST MERIDIAN. 

tics? It has not the fickleness of spring, 
whose blossoms so soon fall, nor the enervation 
of summer, when the strong men bow them- 
selves, nor the imperious exactions of autumn, 
when the in-gathering is a weariness, and 
may be a disappointment. 

Do not speak with too much scorn of a 
wintry landscape. The wreaths of smoke 
rising high into the clear, blue skies, the pure, 
white covering under which nature reposes, 
the sparkling of the sinuous streams, where 
the graceful skaters glide, the groups of chil- 
dren, gathering rosier cheeks and merrier 
spirits from the heightened oxygen of the 
atmosphere, give to a winter morning in our 
sunny latitude cheering excitement. 

Did you ever chance to look upon the 
glorious Niagara in the garniture of winter ? 
And did not its solemn, solitary majesty, 
impress you more deeply, than when the 
green, waving woods, and tlie busy, gazing 
throngs, divided the absorbing sentiment ? 

Is not the wintry eve sweet, with its warm 



THE PLEASURES OF WINTER. 225 

fires and bright lights, when families gather 
in a closer circle, and better love each other ? 
Heart springs to heart, with fewer obstacles 
than in the more discursive seasons, when the 
foot is tempted to roam and the eye to wander. 
The baby crows louder after its father because 
it can sit longer on his knee. The youth has 
a lengthened tale for his lady-love, and the 
storm passes by unheard. Pleasant talk, and 
sweet song, and loud reading, vary the scene 
of household delights. Added cheerfulness 
and love are among the treasures of the 
wintry evening. 

Shall we not avail ourselves of these hints, 
when the winter of life comes ? Shall we 
not light up the cheerful lamp, and put more 
fuel on the flame in our cold hearts ? They 
need not go out, though some are gone who 
were wont to feed them with fresh oil. We 
will keep love to our race, alive, till the last. 
Let its embers throw their warmth even into 
the dark valley. Yes, we will carry those 
20 



226 PAST MERIDIAN. 

embers with us, and relight them where they 
can never wane or expire. 

The young are said to love winter. Let 
us strive to make them love us, when we 
become the personification of winter. We 
will redouble our offices of kindness, and our 
powers of entertainment, and see if we cannot 
melt the ice that has collected between us. 

" Young men," says Lord Bacon, " are to 
be happy by hope, and the old by memory." 
Yes, with us, are the pictures of the past, 
the winter gallery, whose landscapes fade 
not, and whose fountains still freshly murmur. 
Memory ! she who hath sifted and winnowed 
the harvest of life, that she may know the 
true wheat. Memory, who hath stood by us 
when Hope and Love have so often rung the 
death-knell, and forsaken us, — may we be 
happy through her ? The Lord be thanked 
if it is so. If, in looking back on all the way 
wherein He hath led us, she presents a 
predominance of correct motive, of earnest 
obedience, of forgiven sin, let us strike that 



THE PLEASURES OF WINTER. 227 

key- tone of praise which shall re-echo through 
eternity. 

Among the prominent joys of life's winter, 
are those of faith ; a nearness, and shadowing 
forth of things unseen. It was at a festal 
gathering of the old and young, that the 
question was once proposed, — which season of 
human life was the happiest. It was freely 
discussed, with varying opinions. Then the 
guests decided that their host, a man of four- 
score, should be the umpire. Pointing to a 
neighboring grove, he replied, " When vernal 
airs call forth the first buds, and yonder trees 
are covered w4th blossoms, I think how beau- 
tiful is spring. When summer clothes them 
with rich foliage, and birds sing among the 
branches, I say how beautiful is summer. 
When they are loaded with fruit, or bright 
with the hues of early frost, I feel how beau- 
tiful is autumn. . But in sere winter, when 
there are neither verdure or fruit, I look 
through the leafless boughs as I could never 
do before, and see the stars shineJ' 



228 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Stars of our God ! beam more brightly into 
our souls, through this wintry atmosphere. 
For our home is near. And notwithstanding 
the Great Philosopher hath said that the old 
can be happy only through memory, we will be 
happy through hope also, yea, through that 
hope which hath no mixture of earth, the 
" hope that maketh not ashamed, and which 
is as an anchor to the soul." 



CHAPTER XVI. 



% S^to €mUvitt. 

" Oh soldier of the Cross, away with dreams 1 
Bright on thy brow, eternal glory streams, 
In faith, in love, in wisdom's stedfast mind. 
Arise and leave this moonlight camp behind." 

Bishop Burgess. 

If it is wrong to disparage the season of 
age, which so few reach, over the hidden pit- 
falls of time, it is unwise to regard only with 
reluctance and terror, the transition to another 
life. To depart from this world, is as neces- 
sary to the completion of our pilgrimage as 
to have entered it ; a point of existence not 
to be evaded, a consummation of what was 
here begun. 

Do we not bear within ourselves, the 
essential argument and proof of future exist- 
20* 



230 PAST MERIDIAN. 

ence ? Even a heathen shall beautifully 
answer this question, the clear-minded Xen- 
ophon. "When I consider the boundless 
activity of our minds, the remembrance we 
have of things past, our foresight of what is 
to come, when I reflect on those noble dis- 
coveries and improvements that those minds 
have achieved, I am persuaded, and out of 
all doubt, that a nature which hath in itself 
such excellent things cannot possibly be 
mortal." 

Is not this brief life so fitted and adjusted 
to another, as to form but one existence ? 
Like apartments in a well-arranged mansion, 
they harmonize and are in symmetry. May 
we not pass from one to the other, with con- 
fidence in the Builder and Master of the 
Mansion ? If the passage be dark, is there 
not a lamp at each extremity, placed there 
by His hand who " hath conquered Death, 
and brought life and immortality to light 
through the Gospel ? " 

A saintly man drawing near his last hour, 



A NEW EXISTENCE. 281 

said to me, " That other world is as clear, and 
as near, as the entrance into the next room." 
Raising his emaciated hand, with a great 
brightness in his eye, he added, "I had rather 
enter that next room than to remain longer 
here, for in that pleasant room are more of 
my friends than in this." 

" Why are we spared so long ? " is sometimes 
the half-murmuring question of the aged, for 
whom the novelties of life are extinguished. 

The remark is an implication of unerring 
wisdom. As long as breath is lent, there 
will be some duty to perform, some enjoyment 
to partake, some right word to be spoken, 
some prayer to be sent upward, some point 
of Christian example to be made complete. 
It would be well to bear in our hearts the 
motto of a poet, 

^^How loell is ours : — lioio long, permit to Heaven." 

Were our fears and anxieties less devoted 
to the circumstances of leaving this life, than 
to the danger of failing in those duties on 



232 PAST MERIDIAN. 

which the welfare of a future one depends, 
it were better for us now and ever after. 

The dark-winged angel who is appointed 
to summon us to a new existence, is often 
arrayed with imaginary terrors, and represen- 
ted as the foe of our race. A quaint writer 
has recommended that we should " keep on 
good terms with Death." It would be indeed 
wise to make him our friend, to speak no ill 
of him, to be ready for him, and to meet him 
without fear. 

"I am dying," said Washington, when a 
sharp sickness of twenty-four hours cut off 
his span of sixty-seven years, " but I am not 
afraid to die." Sometimes a new and strange 
courage comes to the Christian with death, 
though he might '' all his lifetime have been 
subject to bondage." The diffident, who 
shrank ever from his fellow-man, has been 
heard to open his mouth boldly, and speak 
beautiful things of the world to come. To 
the weak-spirited and oppressed, he appears 
as a deliverer. Tyranny hath power no more. 



A NEW EXISTENCE. 233 

The fears and hopes that were born in dust, 
and dwelt^there, fade away. The eye that 
grows dim to these lower skies, kindles with 
the glorious liberty of the children of God." 
Friends ! brethren and sisters, already far 
advanced on the journey to another life, who 

" Nightly pltcli the mo\ing tent 
A day's march nearer home," 

are we afraid ? Why should we be ? Who 
provided for us, before we entered this state 
of probation ? Whose eye " saw our substance 
yet being imperfect ? " Who took care of us 
when we knew^ Him not ? Will He forget 
us now that we are His servants ? 

To loosen the bonds of affection, and depart 
from those who are most dear, needs the ex- 
ercise of a strong, implicit faith. If there are 
any in that circle, whose helplessness or 
absorbing love render them apparently de- 
pendent on us for protection or happiness, let 
us endeavor serenely to leave them on the 
Everlasting Arm. 



234 PAST MERIDIAN. 

A statesman, during a disastrous period in 
the civil wars of England, being appointed to 
a foreign embassy, was listening to the violent 
tuijiult of a stormy sea, the night before his 
embarkation, and reflecting on the perilous 
condition of his native land, until his troub- 
led mind forbade sleep. A confidential 
servant who accompanied him, perceiving his 
distress, said, 

" Sir, do you not think that God governed 
the world w^ell, before you came into it ?'^ 

" Undoubtedly." 

" Sir, do you not think He will govern it as 
well, when you are gone out of it ?" 

" Certainly." 

" Sir, pray excuse me, but do you not think 
that you may trust Him to govern it quite as 
well, while you do live ? " 

The reproof overcame his perturbation, who 
was about to undertake a tempestuous voy- 
age, burdened with heavy cares. Its spirit 
might instruct us. For those, whom we con- 
template leaving with such anxiety, we might 



A NEW EXISTENCE. 235 

be powerless to protect if we remained be- 
hind. Tlie calamities of life would overtake 
them. Sickness would smite them, and 
sorrow find a passage to their hearts, and we 
could not shield them. We could not " de- 
liver our darling from the Uon." We would, 
therefore, confidently trust them and ourselves 
to an Almighty Hand, and filled with holy 
faith, respond to the words of a powerful 
writer, " We have nothing to do with death 
but to defy it, to lift up our heads, and look 
above it. He is but the mere loosener of the 
cords that moor us to the shores of time, the 
dissolver of the cement that attaches to the 
things that perish in the using. What we 
have to do with it, is to despise it ; not to pre- 
pare to meet it, but to prepare to meet our 
God." 

Nature might herself instruct us, by the 
calm aspect with which she meets her own 
changes. 



236 PAST MERIDIAN. 

" How quiet shows the woodland scene ! 

Each flower and tree, its duty done, 
Reposing in decay serene. 

Like holy men when age is won. 
Such calm old age, as conscience pure 
And self-commanding hearts ensure. 
Waiting the summons of the sky, 
Content to live and not afraid to die." 



Content J and not afraid. That is a blessed 
Christian motto. Yet we would add still 
more. Should we not be happy to pass into 
whatever state of existence God shall desig- 
nate ? Look at the bird. It hath gathered 
neither into store-house or barn. Its food 
hath been from the garner of the broad, 
green earth, and its life a music-strain. The 
blasts of autumn come. Its empty nest trem- 
bles amid the leafless boughs. It must speed 
its way to another clime. 

Does it linger ? Does it doubt ? Nay, it 
spreads an unreluctant wing into the trackless 
ether. 

So go thou forth, O Soul ! It is God's 



A NEW EXISTENCE. 237 

It 

universe. Thou canst not pass beyond His 
jurisdiction. His grace is sufficient for thee. 

Living, or dying, we would obey the elo- 
quent injunction of the prophet, to "seek 
Him who maketh the seven stars and Orion, 
and turneth the shadow of death into the 
morning." Let us bring our will into con- 
formity with His will, and catch the spirit 
of the dying prayer of Bishop Jewel, 

" Lord, now let thy servant depart in peace. 
Lord, suffer thy servant to come unto Thee. 
Lord receive my spirit. 

'• I have not so lived, as to be ashamed of 
having lived ; neither do I fear death, for God 
is merciful. Father, Thy will be done. Thy 
will, I say, and not mine. 

"Lo, this is my day. To-day shall I quickly 
come unto Thee. This day shall I see my 
Lord Jesus — Thou, O Lord, who hast been 
my only hope." 

But in what attitude shall we stand, and 
how shall we occupy ourselves, when the 
21 



238 PAST MERIDIAN. 

time and strength for active service have past 
away ? The answer is, Wait, 

The waiting graces are beautiful. They 
imply readiness. We can not quietly await 
any great event for which we are unprepared. 
Let us have oil in our lamps, and cherish 
every gentle and holy affection. 

Wait ! It is an honorable service. An an- 
cient warrior put on his armour and braced 
himself upright when the footstep of death 
stole upon him. "I have never turned my 
back on any foe, while I lived/' said he, 
"and I will look the last one in the face." 

Wait bravely, therefore, in Christian ar- 
mour, the opening of that gate which leads 
to a higher existence. Wait, with a smile, 
the ministry of the last messenger. Ask not 
when he cometh, or where or in what man- 
ner. Stipulate nothing. Poor pensioner on 
God's free mercy, question not, distrust not. 
His time is the best time. 

When it shall come may we have grace to 
let the frail tent of this body calmly fall, and 



A NEW EXISTENCE. 239 

putting our hand into the pierced hand of a 
Redeemer, with a song of praise go forth to 
" the house not made with hands, eternal in 
the heavens." 



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